


Borderlines - Part the First

by vshendria



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-28
Updated: 2011-07-28
Packaged: 2017-10-21 20:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 265,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/229520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vshendria/pseuds/vshendria





	1. Chapter 1

When all was said and done, things had to be normal again. Even the most bizarre,  
freakish events, if one survived them, passed into a "This is Your Life!" type of  
hinterland. You might even have saved the world, or helped to save it, but everything  
became a matter of record. What the records didn't tell you was that even the hero reached  
a point where the narrative became mundane, when they found themselves driving their  
children to school, changing fuses and mowing the lawn, going to the office every damn  
morning, seeing the same faces, the same walls, the same desk. Even a person who had  
accomplished the extraordinary eventually succumbed to an ordinary life.

Zeke Tyler had helped save the world once. He was modest enough to say it hadn't all  
been him, not by a long shot, but in his heart he knew he'd been pretty fucking  
instrumental. He and Casey Connor, the little geek that could. Only three years ago it had  
been and after...he had ridden that particular wave to its final crash and crumble on the  
shores of normalcy. Seduced by acceptance, he had joined the football team and finished  
high school, given up his illicit business enterprises for a gig that was respectable.

It was Casey who stayed "alien". Casey had been the last one left, the saviour, so it  
was fitting that he receive the national attention, the magazine covers...and with them  
the infamy as years passed and the world at large grew skeptical. Heck, it hadn't even  
taken a month. No one in Herrington ever spoke of it anymore, embarrassed by their once  
most famous son but not willing to let him be normal either.

Zeke wasn't infamous. The town had, in some typically human gesture of repressed  
discomfort disguised as generosity, purchased his silence by offering the sinecures of  
High School Valedictorian and Football Hero. He had a very clear memory of graduation day  
as he stood up to make his address, looking down and finding Casey's face in the crowd.  
Feeling apologetic. _Casey, buddy, I really am sorry, it should be you up here because  
there's no doubt you're smart enough, graduating early and all, it's just look at me up  
here  graduating late and all  the golden all-American boy._ They never  
did get to speak that day. Casey had gone off to college right after, seventeen years old  
and on his way. Studying physics or some such.

That was two years ago. Now he heard that Casey was on the Dean's list for a second  
year and was supposed to go on to graduate school and it fell upon him like a piano on a  
cartoon cat: _I'm wasting my life here._

Sure he had intended to go to college but he had been riding high after graduation and  
had thought, what's the rush? He didn't need any fucking school to tell him he was smart.  
He borrowed money from his father and opened a sporting goods store. His idea was simple:  
Make lots of money first then use it to do whatever he wanted. And the store took off, and  
running it was at first a compelling challenge, and buying his own house was an opportunity  
to stick it to mom and dad. And then there was Delilah.

His soon-to-be wife.

The phone called him to attention. He leapt from his reverie, glancing uneasily out the  
window of his office, as though he weren't the boss and should actually fear being caught  
fucking the dog. He let it ring four times.

"Zeke Tyler."

"Zeke...it's me."

"Hmm."

"Don't forget, we're meeting at the church later."

"Tell me again why I have to do this."

"It's like an interview, sweetie. No big deal."

He hated the way Delilah said "sweetie".

"Why do we have to do it in a church?"

"Zeke. We're been over this."

"Fuck your relatives."

"Oh, you are in a mood, aren't you? I promise to make it up to you."

"How about a blowjob?"

There was a long silence while ice grew on the handset and began to crawl up his wrist  
to coat his hand. "You know, Zeke, I'm getting pretty sick of this, I'm busting my ass to  
get things done and all you can do is gripe and moan, and be unpleasant"

"I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I said, I'm sorry." His floor manager, a stockily built ex-soccer player, pushed her  
head into the office and gestured at the phone... _are you done?_

"Look, I have to go. We'll talk later."

"You'll be there?"

"Yes. 6:00 sharp, right?"

"6:30. Oh, and Zeke, I was meaning to tell you. Casey is in town. Staying at his  
folks'."

"Really."

"I thought you might give a damn, since you haven't seen him in two years."

"What about you? Don't you give a damn?"

"Oh, Zeke. That was ages ago and we were only together a couple of months. Long enough  
for me to remember he's the biggest geek that ever lived."

"Jesus, Del."

"Well, he is. I say that with great affection of course." Delilah made a kissing noise.  
"Bye, sweetie."

Zeke put down the phone thoughtfully. Chances were Casey was home for a brief visit,  
not the whole summer. Casey had come home for a few days last Christmas but he was not  
comfortable in his home town and had given the impression of being in a desperate hurry  
to get back to his new life. He had alluded to someone waiting for him, someone he missed.  
He barely had time to talk with his old friends and comrades-in-arms. And he had been  
different. He had flouted the Universal Laws of Science Geeks and taken to dressing like  
an English lit major, favouring long black coats, South American knitted scarves and Doc  
Martens. His hair was longer and completely fashionable. Zeke could not evict the image  
from his head. In other times and places they would have said Casey "flowered". Zeke could  
easily picture him, ambiguously sleek, laughing and trading intellectual barbs with his  
fellow students in a coffee shop, his ever-present camera dangling from his neck, black  
and white photos pressed into textbooks crammed in the back pack under his feet. He was  
stunning.

The realization had shocked through Zeke that day five months ago, but he went with it,  
unresisting. He was not easily frightened, so it did him no harm to notice that Casey was  
beautiful like a piece of art. Zeke couldn't figure out when it had happened though. Must  
have had something to do with that whole "flowering" thing. Zeke even remarked upon it to  
Delilah at home that night. She had given him one of her most contemptuous stares and  
replied, "Well, he was shit in the sack."

"Del..."

"What? It's the truth."

"You could be a little bit kind."

"I'm not saying it in public or anything...just to you."

"Yeah, but it scares me to think what you might say about me if we ever broke up."

"Hah!" Delilah tossed her head of dark, thick hair. For the first-not last time he  
pictured his hands there where the ends of her hair brushed her neck. Squeezing. "Never  
happen, lover."

The memory roused quick defiance. Zeke left the store in his office manager's capable  
hands and took himself to his car. He was loyal to the classics  the '67 mustang had  
been an indulgence but one for which he felt no remorse. He leaned up against the driver's  
side door, lit a cigarette, and dialled Casey's parents' number from memory.

"Hello?"

It was Casey's mother. Odd, he had thought she worked during the day. "Oh, Mrs. Connor.  
It's Zeke."

"Zeke...oh, yes, Zeke, of course! Goodness, it's been a long time."

"Yes, it certainly has. So, I heard that Casey was in town."

He could smell the tension creeping through their conversation. "Um...yes, he is."

"I would love to see him. Is he staying with you?"

"Yes, Zeke. In fact, he's here right now but he's sleeping."

Zeke glanced at his watch. 11:37 a.m. "Students, huh. Semi-nocturnal."

"Ummm..."

He remembered Casey saying, before they even graduated from high school but after they  
had become friends, that his mother was  how had he put it?  limited by nature  
and training. Which was to say that she meant well  and Zeke respected that. He did  
not go for the kill. He could have pushed, demanded to know what was up with that small,  
tired sound.

"Well, could you let him know I called and ask him to call me back? My cell number is  
555-2701."

"Sure, Zeke."

He hung up and stood there for a while, smoking and thinking. What was to stop him  
from just fucking off, doing something different? No action had been taken yet that was  
irreversible. No major dollars had been spent. Sure Delilah had already bought her dress  
but she would find someplace to wear it. Nobody would be terribly inconvenienced. Fuck,  
it could be so easy, so painless...

It would be so easy, so painless. Just swallow. And swallow, and drift.

Problem was, he didn't have the goods. Sure, there might be treasure in the bathroom  
medicine cabinet, guarded less than securely by his mother. He knew that she had been  
medicated for a stretch not too long ago, and she always had a supply of sleeping pills on  
hand. The thing was, he'd set out towards the bathroom once already. He'd made it halfway  
down the hall and turned back.

"Casey?"

He hadn't expected to see his father. Since he was home his father had barely spoken  
to him. He noted with disinterest the cool yellow gleam through his window stroking the  
glossy of Pamela Sue Anderson plastered to the wall above the computer desk. It was just  
a howl, really, that his parents had preserved all this...detritus. Like they expected him  
to come back and claim Pamela, take her to a better place...a land where boys only loved  
girls and sons knew how to maintain a Stiff...Upper Lip.

"Casey!"

His father's voice was angry. That was nothing new. He was used to hearing Dad curse  
and swear, at the neighbours, at his mother, the television set. Not at him most of the  
time because even if the only person who truly infuriated Frank Connor was his son, Frank  
Connor was not going to beat his only child into the ground.

"Casey, I am losing my patience. Now you get out of this bed and take a shower and put  
on some clean clothes!"

"Frank," his mother admonished. So she was there, too  yes, standing behind his  
father.

"No, Allison. Enough is enough. Yeah, I get it  big tragic break-up. For Christ's  
sake"

 _Be a man, Casey. His father didn't need to say it aloud for Casey to hear it. Men  
don't enter a coma because a relationship ends, even if the relationship is with another  
man. Stop being such a fucking fairy_

Casey closed his eyes. "But I am, Dad."

"What?" His father was taken aback. Fair enough. After all, Casey hadn't spoken for  
several days.

"A fucking fairy."

His mother gasped. "You are not!" That didn't scan, to say the least. Was she protesting  
the term or his gayness? Because she'd had months to get used to the fact that her son was  
into guys.

"Casey," his father said in the I've-given-this-some-thought-now-heed-my-wisdom tone,  
vaguely familiar from sporadic paternal chats-usually delivered from the sovereignty of  
the easy chair every other major holiday after the better part of a case of beer and a  
surfeit of sports. "Has it crossed your mind that the reason you're so....so down...is  
that you know you were doing something  not right and then it didn't work  
out?"

Casey had to open his eyes, to verify that it was indeed Frank Connor's head that  
performed this psychological convolution. He laughed. He hadn't thought it was possible.  
Even this short bark shocked him when he heard it because in his head he knew it had come  
from him yet it felt like it came from some other place not of **him**. He couldn't  
remember when this sensation that parts of him were fading or not quite in the room had  
started, but it was his everyday now.

His father shifted his weight and was evidently uncomfortable. But then he had always  
been uncomfortable with Casey, and Casey, for some obscure reason, wanted to apologize to  
him. Not so much for trading to the wrong team, but for never being the right sort of chap  
and for never being receptive to what affection the man did have to offer: the macho back  
slaps and casual offers to watch the game that were always rebuffed.

His mother begged, "Casey, please come down to dinner. I made your favourites. Meatloaf  
and mashed potatoes..."

He felt bad for his mother too. Yeah, he was depressed which meant he was self-centred  
and fixated on the negative, but he was still able to notice these things. He saw her  
worry and her need to somehow help even though understanding him was a place impossibly  
removed from where Allison Connor lived and breathed. A six-year-old who fell down and  
skinned his knee she could comprehend. A sixteen-year-old who came home busted and bloody  
and told her he fell down she could pretend to understand. A boy who came home and said  
 _Mom, today I saved the world from aliens_...that was getting a bit too hard   
and when that same boy came home at eighteen and said, _mom, I've fallen in love with  
this man and I'm going to spend my life with him_ and then a few months later showed  
up at her door after the same man was finished grinding his heart up into a hash...

She would make meatloaf then. That boy always loved meatloaf.

Appreciating the gesture, he whispered, "I'll come down...just...give me fifteen  
minutes."

After they were gone though, he knew it had been his ploy to get them to leave him  
alone. The silence and darkness of his room as the light turned to twilight was enticing.  
To move, to breathe even seemed to hurt and he couldn't understand how to want to sit up.  
He struggled to get upright, to put his feet on the floor, and that took everything from  
him.

He was sitting there, feet on the floor and crying when Zeke came to the door a half  
hour later. "I can't..."

Not a minute into the interview Zeke's mind took possession of two words.

 _I can't._

In fact, it happened the moment he arrived at the church. Delilah had been furiously  
pacing the sidewalk in front of the building, her heels clicking smartly with each step.  
He'd looked at that face  lovely, cold  and it was then that the words rose  
up in his throat. He had actually attempted to push them down for the next ten minutes,  
nodding at the pauses in Delilah's diatribe but all the while thinking that he had gotten  
caught up in the idea that he could be a hero and that was where it all got fucked up.

"So," began the Reverend Foley. "Tell me, Zeke...what do you understand marriage to be  
all about?"

Some gleeful maniac inside him was giggling and rubbing its hands together. He looked  
directly at the man of God and said, "To the best of my knowledge...misery."

Delilah didn't have time to make a sound just yet.

"I-I'm not sure I understand," the Reverend gulped.

The maniac went on, "I mean, it's about fucking pain and suffering. Every day jumping  
when she hollers, resisting the desire to strangle her so I don't have to hear that  
voice."

"Jesus Christ!" Delilah hissed. "If you think I'm marrying you now"

"No," he confirmed. "I don't."

One thing he had always liked particularly about Delilah Profitt was her determination,  
her absolute refusal to be a victim. She did not disappoint this time either. A moment  
later she was on her feet, yelling, "You unbelievable prick!"

"Yeah, I am," he agreed calmly. "Better we get that out in the open now, before things  
progress any further, wouldn't you agree?" He got to his feet, faced her. "I'm  
leaving."

"You're damned right you are!"

He was walking out then. Silence followed. He had accomplished his freedom  the  
irresistible wish rising, intention forming and action being taken inside fifteen minutes.  
Easy.

Halfway home to start packing he thought fuck it. He would go see Casey. He needed to  
talk to someone else who had escaped. Casey Connor...role model. Maybe just. He laughed to  
himself, feeling almost euphoric. He was Jerry-fucking-McGuire.

Pulling up to the Connor home, he was struck by its plain, all-American wholesomeness.  
Two storied structure, white siding, tidy little lawn punctuated by squat shrubs of trees.  
Who could have guessed that the saviour of mankind was within  ' _cuz we did save  
the effing planet didn't we, Casey? A bunch of wankers and malcontents saved the planet,  
saved a few billion more wankers and malcontents._ Not that he wanted anything like  
that to ever happen again. He just wanted a little bit of the out of the ordinary, the  
sense of everything being **special** that had followed him around for months  
afterwards.

He rang the doorbell and whistled some tune whose lyrics he didn't know as he waited  
for an answer.

The door opened and he was looking at Mrs. Connor and she was looking at him with  
absolute dismay. "Zeke."

"Hello, Mrs. Connor. I hope you don't mind...I thought I would drop by and say hi to  
Casey."

"Oh, well...we were just about to eat dinner."

"Really?" Zeke suddenly realized that he was starving.

"Are...are you hungry?"

"Allison!" came the voice of Mr. Connor. Then the man himself was standing there in  
the doorway. Zeke had never liked him. He was much like the dumb, petty bullies that had  
tormented his own son for years, and the father had joined their ranks himself by letting  
it continue.Zeke couldn't imagine that the parents hadn't known, or at least guessed. And  
they had done nothing  but then neither had he.

"Casey isn't feeling well," Mrs. Connor said anxiously.

They couldn't have been more blatant about their discomfort if they were waving it  
about on placards. Zeke stared at those two ridiculous, caught faces, and decided he was  
in no mood to play nice. Three years of it was enough.

"Well, maybe I'll just go on up and say hi. Cheer him up." He brushed past them  
easily.

"Wait!" called Mrs. Connor. "Zeke, wait."

He stopped with his foot on the stair, for she sounded sincerely miserable.

The woman got close to him, speaking almost in a whisper. "Casey's...been really upset  
since he came home. Something happened to"

Mr. Connor made a warning sound, a noise behind his teeth.

"...something happened at school," finished Casey's mom. "Since he got home...well, he  
hardly leaves his room. He said he would come down for supper but he hasn't and   
maybe it would help, if you talked to him, Zeke. He's always liked you."

"Glad to hear it, Mrs. C."

Zeke took the stairs two at a time.

He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't to find Casey sitting with feet on the  
floor, head dangling down between thin shoulder blades; at Zeke's entrance he looked up  
slowly and he was crying, just leaking from the eyes but not sobbing or making any other  
sounds.

"I can't," said Casey.

Zeke was a guy after all. He wasn't accustomed to this sort of melodrama from his male  
acquaintances, although it was a stretch to associate Casey with the category male. Oh,  
he gave evidence of being male and was by no means a girl either...yet he was in some  
essential part of him neither and both. Zeke was willing to bet that in better times Casey  
could have cried this much and still looked good, but today was not that day. The kid's  
hair was greasy and matted and it appeared the rest of him was not much cleaner. The  
normally ivory-pale skin had adopted a palette that included shades of chalky and waxen.  
A guy just didn't know how to speak to that. "Can't what?" Zeke heard himself say.

Casey blinked. Tears that had been trapped in outrageously thick lashes broke away and  
rained down his face. "Zeke..."

Well, the situation might be new, but he could deal. Zeke closed the door and came as  
close as he dared, taking a seat at Casey's old computer desk chair.

"What's going on here, buddy?" he asked, sounding very sensible, and, he thought,  
reasonably compassionate.

Casey leaked some more. He didn't really look at Zeke. He didn't really look at  
anything. He seemed quite broken, even physically, folded awkwardly, a snapped twig.  
"Casey? Are you going to talk to me? Your parents seemed to think I have the power to  
crack the code, but I have to admit, I'm having some doubts here, pal."

Nothing.

"Hey, c'mon. Casey, what could be so bad to get to the only resident planetary alien  
ass-kicker?"

Nothing.

Zeke let out a long sigh. There really was only one thing to be done. He understood  
these things even if he didn't like to.

He moved, slowly and carefully, to sit right next to Casey. It wasn't easy; that close,  
the aroma was fairly pungent. Zeke decided to not notice it. Taking his time, he put one  
arm around Casey's shoulders. Then he moved the other around the front to loosely embrace  
the hunched body, and gradually, slowly, pulled Casey in against his chest.

For long moments they remained that way, Zeke holding Casey and Casey not moving. Then  
suddenly there was a noise and Casey was sobbing, his hands moving, creeping up between  
them. Right about then Zeke had the insight that things had just changed between them. He  
knew it when Casey clung to him, his fingers pressing through flesh to bone, raising  
bruises, actually hurting him with those tiny little sticks of fingers while he soaked  
Zeke's shirt with saline.

It seemed like it must have been at least half an hour that they were there. Probably  
it was less. Eventually Zeke realized that Casey was not going to move of his own accord  
and began to pull back. Casey's hands twitched, about to impress a new layer of sore spots  
on Zeke's ribs, but then stilled. He moved away quietly, eyes downcast.

Zeke said, "How about a shower?" Casey's eyes snapped up and Zeke realized with a  
squirm of discomfort what he had said and how it sounded. "Ah...for you, I mean. No  
offense, buddy, but you're ripe. You'll feel better if you're clean..." Zeke heard his  
own voice and mentally smacked himself for being such a guy  but hell, what did you  
do when some skinny little geek you knew from school inexplicably became this fey creature  
of ambiguous gender and then transmuted to a fountain in your arms? You said something  
stupid and testosterone-laden: "...and maybe something to eat?"

Casey just looked at him, seeing through his bravado and apparently forgiving him. At  
long last he breathed, almost inaudibly, "Okay."

He just got up and walked out the door without another word. A minute later Zeke heard  
the shower running in the bathroom just down the hall. He went back downstairs then, not  
wanting to be in the room when Casey got back...not because it would make him uncomfortable  
or anything, just to give Casey his privacy.

Zeke found Casey's parents at the dinner table, almost done their own meal. There were  
the remains of a meatloaf, and mashed potatoes and peas, all so normal, so hopeful that it  
hurt. The Connors sat at opposite ends of the small, four-person table. Two more plates  
were set out.

Zeke announced, "He's coming down, I think."

"Oh!" Casey's mother gasped. "Thank you, Zeke...thank you. Please...sit, have something  
to eat."

Zeke sat, noting the cold face on Casey's father. _Yeah, try to guess what your son  
did with me up there and worry, you fuck._ Zeke took a large helping of everything.

They were just starting to find the length of silence worrisome when there was a  
creaking and a shuffling and Casey appeared at the doorway, peering in, pressing his face  
against the wall. His hair was damp, his face just a little bit dewy from his shower. With  
the desperate pallor and haunted expression he was Chaplin, posed in black and white.

"Sit down, Casey, please," said the boy's mother.

Mr. Connor merely looked disgusted, and set about polishing off his mashed potatoes.

Casey took the fourth chair. He was wearing a clean t-shirt and sweats, and his  
shoulders were resolutely slumped. He made no move to put anything on his plate.

"Would you like some potatoes?" his mom asked in a small sort of voice. Casey nodded,  
she grabbed the dish herself and got up, standing beside the boy, and scooped out an  
enormous wad of them. The very size of it was a howl of worry, of unfulfilled need to  
help. "More?" she asked hopefully.

Casey shook his head.

"What about some peas..."

"For Christ's sake, Allison!" bellowed the father, slamming a hand down with enough  
force to rattle the dishes. Both mother and son jumped.

Zeke did the only thing he could short of busting the man's face. He offered the  
platter of meatloaf to Casey's mom. "Here, Mrs. C. Make sure he gets some of this. He's  
looking even more anemic than he did in high school."

The woman smiled gratefully and went about what she had been doing, heaping food on her  
son's plate, even though he had been old enough to serve himself for some years now.

Mr. Connor glared at Zeke and he glared back, hoping he was getting across the  
particular message he wanted to convey which was that he had no scruples about taking a  
past-his-prime blowhard into his own backyard and beating the snot out of him.

Now they were all settled, with food on their plates. There was nothing to do but eat,  
so Zeke forced himself to the task, his hunger having been rather stunted by adrenalin.  
He kept a surreptitious eye on Casey as well, noting with satisfaction that Casey was  
eating, not with enthusiasm but there was at least some nourishment getting into that  
skinny frame. Zeke was a lot smarter and well-informed than he chose to act a lot of the  
time, and he was quite knowledgeable about the symptoms of depression  hell, his  
mother had practically trained him as a psychiatric field medic. He saw enough to tell  
him that Casey was in trouble...just how much trouble he couldn't assess.

"So, Zeke," said Casey's mom brightly. "I guess congratulations are in order. I hear  
you and Delilah are getting married."

Casey stopped in the process of raising his fork to his mouth. The fork trembled a  
little, but he managed to regain his composure and the fork resumed its journey.

"Ah...well, yes, we were..." Zeke began.

His cell-phone, as though on cue, trilled for his attention. That would be Delilah  
calling to offer him another chance. He smiled at his hosts and turned the phone off.

"Are you sure you don't want to take that?" asked Mrs. Connor. "It's okay"

"No, it's not important." Zeke found Casey's eyes across the table  no great  
distance and no hardship either. "So, Case. I guess you're off for the summer, huh? Any  
plans?"

This question was an inadvertent disaster.

"He was supposed to get a job, earn some money this summer," complained Frank Connor.  
"But too late now that the summer's half over."

"Casey was on the Dean's list again," his mom said quickly, with genuine pride.

"I heard that." Zeke turned away from Casey to his mother, and smiled with all the  
charm he knew he was capable of, when he needed it. "Seems there's some kind of  
underground information railroad here. We all know what each other is up to  what  
good news everyone is getting," he amended quickly. "So how did you find out about Delilah  
and me?"

"Celia Profitt and I...at a cooking class we both take."

Ah, Delilah's mother was the leak, not that any of this stuff was a state secret.

"I guess you only have one year to go, huh? Are you going to go to grad school?" Zeke  
said to Casey.

Casey spoke for the first time since coming downstairs. "I...guess."

"I'm thinking about applying to college myself," Zeke said. "In fact, I could use your  
advice."

Was it possible for those eyes to get bigger?

"If you're not busy tomorrow," Zeke went on. "Maybe you and I could hang out. I'm  
looking for an apartment  you could be my second opinion."

"Oh!" exclaimed Allison Connor. "You and Delilah are moving out of your house?"

"No, I'm moving out of the house. Delilah's staying for now. I don't know what she'll  
decide but it's up to her."

Casey's mom put a hand over her mouth. "Oh."

"So how about it, Casey? You wanna apartment hunt with me tomorrow?"

"Okay," Casey whispered.

Zeke was feeling very pleased with himself as he pulled up to the house that he and  
Delilah shared  would share until he could get to a lawyer and ditch his part of  
the title. It had always been Delilah's really, from silk chenille throws to the stainless  
steel refrigerator, Debbie Travis walls and Italian tile. Zeke had no desire to take it  
from her.

Delilah was waiting in the kitchen. Long ago she had decreed that the kitchen was where  
Serious Discussions would take place. She was pulling on a bottle of Evian. Delilah did  
not drink, having learned the potential consequences well and early.

"I phoned you," was her initial shot.

"I turned my phone off."

"Where were you?"

"At Casey's."

Something eased in Delilah's face at the reassurance that he was not out banging the  
first blond he could find. "Why did you go there?"

Zeke shrugged. "I wanted to."

"Is this your new philosophy for life, then?" The usual mellifluous tones turned  
harsh.

Just after high school ended Zeke and Stan had met for beers a few times. Once, over his  
fourth beer Stan had said, "Watch yourself around her, man. When her voice changes...watch  
yourself." Zeke had not commented but he knew that Stan had simply been no match for  
Delilah. He was a rock-hard jock with a marshmallow heart. He and Stokes had moved together  
to Seattle a year ago and probably lived happily ever after too, the sucks.

"No," Zeke said. "It's my old philosophy."

"So what has this been...the last two years?"

"A wrong turn."

He hadn't intended to say that. But it was out now and there was no recovering from  
that honesty. Now some more honesty, laced with that perfectly refined malice at which  
Delilah excelled, would be coming his way.

"Wrong turn," Delilah echoed. She lifted her bottle to take a drink. Her hand shook.  
When she lowered it, however, her face was hard and set. "You know what I think? I think  
you just can't bear the thought that everything went back to normal and you couldn't be a  
superstar anymore. And that leaves you back where you started  a screwed up loser  
who couldn't bring himself to finish high school."

"You're right," Zeke admitted, not giving her the satisfaction of seeing the slightest  
bit of a flinch.

"I was going to say we could talk about this but I see that it's impossible. You never  
wanted me, you never wanted this home or a life together. You've been faking it for the  
last two years, you pathetic fuck!"

"Delilah, I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Delilah sounded nothing like the poised young woman she normally portrayed.  
She was now her mother's daughter. "You're not sorry. You're not sorry about anything  
except the time you think you've wasted. And I'll tell you this  I'm not moving out  
of this house!"

"That's"

"It's mine, you understand? I'll buy your half. Don't you dare try to fight me on  
this."

"Delilah, shut up! I'm giving you my half."

"You're...giving...me  I don't want it, I'll buy it from you."

"No. I want you to have it."

And there  he had scored the winner. Tears built in Delilah's eyes; she stood  
silently, fighting them.

"I'll see that the title is transferred to you alone by the end of the week," Zeke  
said.

Delilah took a deep breath. "What are you going to do?"

"Go to college...I don't know exactly."

"I'm glad," Delilah sniffed. "You're brilliant, Zeke."

"I know."

"A brilliant jerk," she amended. "What about the store?"

"I'm keeping it for now, but I won't be involved in managing it anymore."

Delilah walked up to him, slowly. She placed a kiss on his cheek. They would be friends,  
as much as either of them ever really had friends.

"So handsome," Delilah sighed. She moved to kiss him on the lips.

He gently disengaged. He would have liked to fuck her, hard and punitive to let her  
know he was not forgiving her for her words. And she wanted to fuck him for the same  
reason. But he had always been, of the two of them, the one who knew where to draw the  
line.

"Where will you sleep?" she asked.

"On the couch. I'll find an apartment tomorrow."

He was walking into the family room as he spoke. Family room, living room. The living  
room, in Delilah's mind, was for guests only. It was pristine. The family room was his  
room, full of guy-type things like a 52" television, stereo, DVD player, surround  
sound....

"You wanna take this stuff?" Delilah asked.

"I think so." He collapsed into the couch. It was black leather, and excellent for  
napping.

"What's up with Casey?"

Delilah looked a tad sly. He decided to ignore it.

"He's in a bad way. Depressed."

"Wasn't he always?"

"No. I mean can't-get-out-of bed depressed."

"Ooh, poor baby," Delilah purred, dropping down next to him. "Did his boyfriend leave  
him at the altar?"

Zeke just looked at her. "I'm taking him with me tomorrow to look for a place to live.  
Maybe I can get him to open up a bit." He could not pretend he didn't notice Delilah's  
grin at that. "What?"

"You have a thing for him."

"I do not  what sort of thing?"

"An 'I wanna jump your bones' type thing."

"Why would you think that?" Zeke asked, genuinely curious and not wanting to let Delilah  
see the panic that was welling inside him.

"You've always been fascinated by him. You don't talk about people, but you talk about  
him. You always have." Delilah touched his arm, still grinning. "It's okay. I've been  
there too. Once I had him it was over. All you need to do is fuck him."

Zeke ripped his arm away. "I'm tired. Why don't you go to bed?"

"He'll let you, Zeke. He's a slut."

"Go to bed!"

Delilah laughed and left him alone finally.

He stripped to his underwear and sprawled out in the dark.

Slut. It was almost a compassionate diagnosis for what Casey was. Even back in the days  
before the aliens it had been blatant in the wide hungry eyes and hungry body. Not for sex  
then because Casey hadn't quite learned to be a sexual being, but for a touch, a word of  
affection. He bore the blows as though he trusted that at any moment one of them might  
evolve into a caress.

There had been a time, not long after Delilah dumped Casey, still only a few months  
after the thwarted invasion became a national sensation, when Zeke noticed that Casey  
seemed to be losing sleep. He had circles under his eyes that appeared to be drawn in  
magic marker, and he had actually nodded off in one of his classes. The general school  
population was of the opinion that this was a further act of heroism. Zeke knew better. He  
cornered Casey after school-knowing it was a waste of time trying to get him to skip class  
 and ushered him into his car, and then they were flying down the interstate towards  
nowhere, ostensibly a diner where they had the best fries around but nowhere really. Casey  
had fallen asleep in the passenger's seat, his head lolling to one side, cheek pressed  
against the place where window met door. Zeke just drove, filled with an unaccountable  
happiness that he was sure was all about being on the open road in his car, with his  
tunes.

When they reached the diner it was nearly dark. Casey didn't even stir when the car's  
engine stopped. Zeke just sat and watched him sleep while the evening disappeared and it  
became dark. The diner's neon glow and the street lamps gently illuminated Casey's face,  
highlighting the artful arrangement of lines and textures. Zeke became entranced by his  
lips, moving infinitesimally with each susurration of breath. He had been intrigued by  
Casey's face for some time, with its odd juxtaposition of strength and delicacy.

Zeke leaned over, and over, and before he could think himself out of it, he pressed  
his own lips to the flushed-pink warmth opposite him.

Casey's eyes peeled open and simply took him in for many heartbeats, his lips neither  
hardening in resistance nor softening in welcome.

Zeke pulled back with a jerk, staring out the windshield and running his hands through  
his hair. The feelings were not bells and choirs like in some book. No, what he felt was  
the literal wish to grab Casey and finish what the alien queen had started  to  
dissolve Casey's separate existence, to own him entirely. He envisioned them in the back  
seat, him crushing the smaller body beneath his own, pressing, pressing him down into the  
seat until he disappeared, until skin was no longer a plausible barrier between them.

"We're here," Zeke said, his voice shaking.

He dared to look at Casey and saw  oh motherfucking god  the boy's head  
tilted sideways against the headrest, staring at him with open invitation, saying _I'm  
here, I want you, do whatever you want._ The look could not have been more perfect if  
he had trained for it  geisha house or crack house, none could teach what was in  
Casey's eyes. He was a natural.

"God," Zeke said out loud. "Fuck." His cock was tearing a hole in his jeans.

Casey took pity on him then, getting out of the car.

Incredibly, one could recover from something like that. One could walk into the diner,  
sit down, chat over the menu, pretend it never happened. Later, over a plate of fries  
Casey told him why he hadn't been sleeping. He was afraid of it happening again, the  
aliens. He worried about it going on right now in other places, in Kansas or Texas,  
spreading until this time when it reached them it would be too late to do anything. He  
talked about his parents not understanding and how tough it was seeing Delilah when they  
worked together on the school paper and how nervous Coach Willis made him...and he seemed  
such a child, such a human being with his completely human anxieties, that Zeke could  
dismiss what happened in the car as an aberration. Casey was no siren, and he, Zeke, was  
just a hormone-ridden teen.

Shit. He was hard how, remembering.

Dammit, he wasn't gay. He knew that many men feel an attraction to one of their own  
sex at some point in their life, even if they never acted upon it. It didn't change a  
guy's basic orientation. But he had never felt anything like this for any other  
male...this...this whatever this was. Maybe all guys occasionally had a thought about a  
pal and ruthlessly repressed it. Or maybe not. Maybe they jacked off to fantasies of their  
friend's blue eyes and soft skin.

Quietly he slipped his hands into his pants  and pulled them back. If Delilah  
heard, if she guessed, she would have his utter humiliation in her grasp. He wouldn't  
give her that. A house, yes, but not that. He curled up and tried his damndest to go to  
sleep.

It was remarkable how, having made a decision that was an emotional necessity, a person  
could witness the pain it caused without being the least bit affected. Like the morning  
after Zeke broke it off with Delilah. Contrary to all expectations, Delilah awoke grieving.  
She appeared in the kitchen heavy-eyed and just plain sad. Zeke felt little sympathy...only  
a vague disquiet that he didn't feel any more than he did. He could only draw the conclusion  
that your average bugger is a selfish prick.

As the first order of the day he packed a bag and checked into the Best Western  
downtown. He then drove to the Connor residence with a smile on his face. Not content to  
wait in the car, he parked at the curb and bounded up to ring at the front door. To his  
surprise it was Casey who appeared, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt that set off his  
eyes to splendid effect although the shirt was hopelessly wrinkled and Casey's hair stuck  
out in every direction. Sitting in Zeke's car, he seemed smaller than ever, bird frail.  
His eyes gazed a bit too widely, flicking here and there with little pattern or purpose.  
He seemed to have no defenses, not that he ever had so many to begin with.

There was a terrible, long silence in the car as Zeke drove to the nearest Starbuck's.  
He felt tongue-tied in a way that hadn't happened since he was twelve and caught with his  
hand down his pants by his mother.

"Here we are," said Zeke as they sneaked into a spot in front of Starbuck's. He winced  
at his own voice. "Are you getting something?" He raised an eyebrow. "Maybe some caffeine  
would be good?"

Casey lifted his shoulders. It was near to a shrug, but even that lacked commitment.  
"Yes...please."

"Grande?"

"Sure."

"Milk?"

"Zeke....I'm gay."

Zeke barely paused. "I think I knew that, Casey."

"You needed to be warned," Casey said in a low, hollow tone. "It could affect your  
reputation, you know."

"I don't care what people think of me, Casey."

"You're with Delilah."

"Was. As of yesterday." Zeke spoke to the windshield, gripping his steering wheel. "I  
realized it was a mistake." He made a point of looking at Casey. "I'm going to get our  
coffees." He hesitated, asked, "You'll wait here?" As though Casey might exit the car to  
throw himself into traffic. It didn't appear too implausible.

Casey nodded.

He was sitting in exactly the same position, staring out the window, when Zeke returned.  
Zeke almost had to fold Casey's hands around the coffee cup to get him to hold it.

"You know what?" Zeke said. "I don't feel much like apartment-hunting. Let's go for a  
drive."

Enormous blue marbles on a white surface. To Zeke's relief, it spoke. "Okay."

Zeke turned up the stereo as they left the parking lot.

Two hours later they pulled into a wayside rest just outside the next town. Casey  
hadn't spoken the entire time. He did drink the coffee, and let his head fall back against  
the headrest, gazing idly out the passenger side window. When the car's engine stopped he  
came out with, "I'm bad company."

"You're not bad company. Who needs to fill every second with talk? To tell the truth,  
it's a relief." Zeke opened his door. "Let's walk a bit." He was pleased to see Casey  
follow, squinting against the bright sunlight. "So... what happened, Case?"

Keeping his distance, Casey snapped a look at him. "I don't want to..."

"That won't cut it. It's obvious something bad happened."

"You can't help."

"You might be surprised."

This elicited a sad half-smile.

"You obviously need to tell someone. I'm volunteering myself." Zeke grinned. "These  
offers are few and far between, you know."

"That's...you don't really want to get into it."

Zeke moved closer and took Casey by the shoulders, turning him to make sure Casey was  
seeing him. "You're right, that sort of thing isn't really me. But I'm different with you,  
Casey. I really do want to help."

Casey stared for a while before replying, "There's not much to it. I fell in love with  
someone who didn't love me, not really." Casey's voice choked. "I won't see him again."

"Well, excuse me for saying so, but good riddance."

Casey shrugged. Zeke knew, just as Casey did, that Casey made it easy for people to  
hurt him  witness his daily torture by Gabe and his crew. Casey was practiced at  
suffering; it was written on his flesh in blood and scars. That aura of passive endurance,  
that willingness to just take it  well, Zeke knew that there were plenty of people  
in the world who were either tempted or maddened by it.

"I never hit him," Stan had said. "But, god, sometimes I just looked at him and  
something made me want to do it. Just...to see how it felt because I knew he would let  
me."

Stan after six beers was introspective. Not necessarily a welcome transformation to  
Zeke's memory.

"So this prick of yours," Zeke said lightly, "You want me to go beat him up?"

Casey laughed briefly. "No. It wouldn't change anything. Besides, he's from a powerful  
family, they'd probably have you arrested and tossed in jail for life."

"Is that so?"

Casey nodded. He stated, the brief burst of animation fading rapidly, "I'm just so  
tired."

"Come, we'll drive back to town. Maybe you'll fall asleep in the car."

And Casey did, uncannily falling into the exact same position he had that day almost  
three years ago. Zeke glanced over at him frequently as the miles fell away.

He tried it on for size: _I want him._ A comfortable fit, no chafing at all.

 _I've always wanted him._

That was a little tight across the chest. For one thing, it showed off his complete  
stupidity that he had been keeping this kind of major secret from himself. He liked to  
think that he was reasonably self-aware.

 _I'm going to have him._

He couldn't get his head through that one. It was too tight, he could barely breathe.  
Well, his cock certainly had no problem with it, but above the waist he was still Zeke  
Tyler, resolute heterosexual.

 _All you have to do is fuck him._

Zeke's fantasies took him all the way to the parking lot of his hotel. As Casey slept  
he drove right by the turn to Casey's house, glancing once at the sleeping face of his  
friend. He pulled into a parking space around the back of the hotel, where no one would  
see them  he hoped. He turned in his seat and stared at Casey, who continued to  
sleep for several minutes, oblivious to Zeke's ethical crisis.

He was no fool. He knew that Casey had come to represent for him everything that he had  
been missing lately  like for two years. Something special, out of the ordinary. He  
would have called off the whole wedding business anyway, he was sure of it...wouldn't he?  
Yes. But veering in Casey's direction immediately after had only made the rebellion  
sweeter. Not only did he dump Delilah but for a man, and not just any man but a friend,  
and a friend who defined the concept of "alien". In his mind Casey was to him everything  
exotic and strange and just what he needed.

But his gut was having a bit of trouble with Casey's plumbing. He wasn't gay. He  
couldn't even consider himself bisexual. He was Casey-sexual and that was about it. To  
touch Casey, to even suggest that he wanted to, was probably cruel. He would have Casey  
once, remember that he preferred women, and then he would have used his friend at a  
particularly vulnerable time.

All this philosophical energy when he didn't feel inclined to be ethical. What he  
wanted was to pound Casey into a well-used hotel mattress. The image made blood rush to  
his face, pulsing warm, interfering with the orderly flow of thoughts to their proper  
locale.

"Fuck!"

Casey made a slight noise and brushed at his face lightly. Waking up.

Down to seconds. Time to shit or get off the pot.

The blue orbs were uncovered and it was as in some classical myth  although he  
couldn't quite remember which one  where the statue came to life and when its eyes  
fell on the hero he became the statute, frozen at that very moment. The sex fantasy  
instantly collapsed as he was confronted with a person rather than an object of his mind  
 yet the scene continued. He saw Casey take in their location around the back of the  
hotel, saw him pin his gaze on Zeke's face. It took Casey all of four seconds.

Casey leaned in, straining to reach Zeke's mouth while still wearing his seat belt.  
Acting on instinct, Zeke planted a hand on his chest and stopped him.

"You can," Casey said, so very, very, softly. Improbably, there was hunger in his  
eyes.

Well, of course there was. He had been fucked over by some guy and never had been more  
than formally acquainted with the Real World. He was all about _need_.

"I want to," Zeke said angrily.

"You can."

"No, I can't." Zeke turned the key in the ignition. "I'm taking you home."

"No, please, can't I" Casey reached, almost grabbing his arm, and pulled it back.  
"I don't like it there. Can't I just stay with you?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"What if I promise to keep my hands off you?" Somewhere along the way Casey Connor had  
learned how to address a man with just that note of sly admiration, flattering him that he  
was irresistible and completely in control. Casey  the same boy who had worn K-Mart  
t-shirts and a cheap haircut  could turn on a dime from ingenue to incubus.

"Casey...I'm not good at depriving myself of what I want."

"You don't want me," Casey replied sweetly. "You like women, remember?"

"Right..." Zeke knew he sounded wary, and with reason.

"Please, Zeke. My father can't stand having me under his roof."

Zeke pocketed his keys, knowing it was an irrevocable step. "All right. You can come up  
for a drink. We'll watch a movie."

He knew to be afraid when Casey slid out of the car without a flicker, only a half-smile  
of satisfaction.

He would not be self-conscious. Men took their friends, their business colleagues, their  
cousins to their rooms. No one should be suspicious. There was no reason to flinch as they  
strolled through the lobby, no reason to wonder if the whole town actually knew that Casey  
was into guys and what the hell should it matter anyway? As far as they all knew Zeke Tyler  
was still engaged to Delilah Profitt and this was his bachelor party.

All the way up to the third floor Zeke tasted the bitter knowledge that he was a coward.  
He did care what people thought, and his bravura statement to Casey that morning was an  
empty protest  like a teenaged loser selling caffeine hits in the school bathroom,  
trying too hard to be dangerous. Nothing would happen between him and Casey, he resolved,  
until he had the balls to kiss him in front of Delilah, his mother, and his entire alma  
mater.

His room looked much sadder than he remembered. A lone bottle of vodka that he had  
bought that morning expecting to celebrate tonight sat unopened on the small round table  
that was placed in standard hotel configuration. On one bed his hastily packed suitcase  
sat open just as he had left it after quickly rifling through that morning for a different  
shirt. _You chickenshit_ , he berated himself. _You **dressed** for him. Now you  
won't even look at him._

Zeke went for the bottle of vodka. He opened his mouth to offer Casey a drink,  
reconsidered, debated. It wasn't what Casey needed, but then contrary to appearances he  
was an adult and Zeke didn't want to pound one back alone. That would just look too much  
like drinking to fortify his nerves.

Fuck it. He tore off the seal.

"Do you want a drink?"

Casey shook his head. Zeke quickly poured a couple of fingers into one of those  
paper-wrapped hotel-sized tumblers. He grabbed the remote, switched on the television and  
began paging through the menu looking for movies.

"Well, make yourself at home."

There was something about being in a hotel. Maybe it was that the slightly wicked  
delight of watching television in bed was practically unavoidable. Or was it that you  
suddenly felt you could be anyone in that carbon copy room where a maid erased your  
transgressions in the morning and you didn't even have to watch...just do your business  
and walk away.

Soon he and Casey were sprawled on the double bed directly adjacent to the television  
propped up on two pillows each and giggling at the selection of movies.

"Oh, this must be Oscar-worthy...'Creamer versus Creamer'. Or how about 'A Beautiful  
Behind'." Zeke was pleased to see Casey smiling a little. "Look, they have a selection for  
those of us who pursue alternative lifestyles: 'About the boys'."

"How about a real movie?"

"This is real. 'A stirring account of one man's quest for emotional completion'," Zeke  
read from the guide.

"I don't want to watch that," Casey said, sounding anxious.

"Hey, I'm just goofing around. I think watching gay porn with a male buddy is just  
about the last thing I..." Zeke's voice trailed away when his eyes happened to find  
Casey's looking up at him, too knowing and too needy. "H-how about #The Thing'? It's on  
Sci-Fi."

"Too much like real life."

"Sweet Magnolias?"

"Seen it too many times."

"Fuck, you're strange. Okay, here we go...'Lethal Weapon 2'."

"Mmm....Danny Glover."

"Danny Glover?" Zeke glanced down at Casey, who was smiling again. "What about Mel?"

"Sure, he's hot," Casey agreed, shifting around to get comfortable and ultimately  
getting his head on Zeke's shoulder like that hadn't been his intention all along. "But  
Danny is big and gentle. I'll bet he makes Mel feel so safe."

Zeke just looked down at his friend, thinking about how he would like to put his arm  
around him. _Have you ever felt safe_? he wanted to ask. Instead he got up to pour  
himself another drink, figuring he knew the answer.

While Mel wooed Patsy Kensit, Zeke got used to the feeling of Casey's arm and leg  
pressed against his. It was pleasant enough, not too different from cuddling with a person  
of the female variety. Parts, Zeke reminded himself, are parts. When you get right down to  
it.

"Oh, yeah!" Zeke exclaimed as Mel executed a flying back kick. "Don't you wish you had  
moves like that?"

"Not really," was Casey's answer. He reached over as he said this and began idly to  
finger Zeke's shirt buttons.

"Wha-why not?" Zeke's attention was fragmented, divided between the television and  
Casey lying half-draped over him, head on his chest.

"Just couldn't imagine hitting someone that way  to hurt them, to kill them  
even."

Zeke stared resolutely at the screen. "Not even Gabe and co?"

"No," Casey whispered, his fingers still playing lightly over Zeke's buttons.

The moment he attempted to undo one of them, Zeke's hand was there, snapped onto  
Casey's wrist. "Stop."

"Don't want to."

Casey grabbed a fistful of his shirt in a mostly symbolic effort to keep him in place.  
Zeke gently but firmly worked Casey's fingers free; Casey's hand clasped his then,  
unrelenting.

"Casey..." Zeke risked a look at Casey's eyes. He thought he understood what he was  
seeing there. "You don't need to do anything to keep me around. I'm not going  
anywhere."

"Maybe," Casey breathed, "...just...."

"What?"

"...want you..."

Zeke didn't believe it for a second, not from a guy who could barely say the words, who  
seemed to have lost the word "I". But when Casey reached down and grasped his arousal,  
talented fingers stroking him just enough to make him amoral...he had enough of trying to  
be good. He waited as two hands and a mouth repositioned themselves, unzipping him and  
engulfing him in a sleek heat and the only thing he was thinking as the pleasure mounted  
was that parts were parts and this could just as well have been Delilah doing this except  
she was never this good at it. Within moments Casey had found his buttons and was using  
them ruthlessly to reduce him to a mindless, thrusting animal. He erupted into that willing  
heat, unable to form a single thought or word, and then fell back into a sated pile of  
mush.

He lay back with his eyes closed, content to let that talented mouth lick him clean. A  
firm, hot body then snuggled up against him and this time he made no attempt to stop the  
fingers from unfastening his shirt.

But now...the body against him was unmistakably male. Keeping his eyes closed could not  
sustain the lie. He had to look, had to respond to his heterosexual male training that  
wanted him to get up and run. It was no longer an androgynously beautiful face and  
ungendered but highly skilled mouth. Slim-hipped and soft-skinned, yet undoubtedly a boy  
with an unfulfilled cock pressed against his leg.

For all his fantasies, all his brave thoughts, the sight of Casey there was anathema.  
As a rebel he was a complete fraud.

"You should go," he heard himself say coldly.

Casey had at least enough self-interest to freeze if not to withdraw entirely. He  
became so still his body seemed to float, barely touching Zeke.

"Did you hear me?" Zeke snapped. Knowing why he was angry and knowing it was unfair  
didn't seem to stop it from happening.

"Why?" Casey whispered to him, body flexing like he thought curling tightly around Zeke  
would draw the anger out.

Other people might have moved away off the bed and left with self-respect intact. Casey  
was not other people. Zeke could have wondered if this guy who had just finished destroying  
Casey had trained any and all sense of self-preservation out of him except that Zeke had  
known Casey since high school and figured it was hard-wired. It was a brave and stupid way  
to live, and Zeke was not going to let himself be seduced by it. You couldn't overcome a  
person's limitations by repeatedly throwing yourself past their borders and offering them  
your sovereignty.

"Because I've already used you and if you stay I probably will again."

Casey's hand tried to draw some sort of pattern on his chest. "It's okay."

Zeke grabbed his hand, pushed it aside, violently this time. "No, it's not okay. Maybe  
you've got some fantasy going in your head about me, that we were meant to be together or  
something. I'm completely freaked out right now and I'm not going to be nice." He swung  
up to a sitting position at the side of the bed, keeping his back to Casey. "I shouldn't  
have let you come up here."

Casey didn't say anything  he didn't have to. Zeke had known perfectly well what  
he was agreeing to when he agreed to let Casey come to his room.

"I'll take you home," Zeke offered. Shame was bitter in his mouth.

"Please let me stay," came Casey's voice, small and hesitant. "I...I'll do anything you  
want."

Zeke stood up at that and whirled to shout down at him. "Fuck you!" Casey had made  
himself small on the bed, hugging his knees to himself. "Don't you have any pride!?"

Casey shook his head, his mouth trembling. He flinched as Zeke began to rave, his hands  
flying through the air.

"You're my friend, for fuck sake! How could I accept an offer like that and not be a  
complete bastard? I can't fucking believe this! Never mind your own pride  what do  
you think I am?!" Zeke stomped into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Five minutes later he came back out, feeling a bit stupid. "Okay, Casey"

He stopped upon seeing Casey's face. The boy was huddled just as he had been left, but  
now he was clutching his arms, trembling rather violently. He looked up at Zeke like he  
expected to be physically attacked, his body language a plea for simple physical comfort,  
nothing more. Instead of noticing that Zeke had let himself indulge in a great bit of ego  
masturbation to cover his embarrassment that he had just come in his friend's mouth. He  
should be at least capable of holding Casey, he had managed it well enough the night before  
after all.

"Shit, Casey...I'm...sorry."

Casey's smaller body fit neatly in his arms this time, curled up within his embrace,  
warm and pliable. After the drama of the last half hour, it was easy. He even rocked Casey  
a little.

"You need to tell me to shut up, Casey," he said over the dishevelled hair. "It's easy  
 Delilah did it all the time."

This won him the tiniest bit of a giggle.

"Go on, say it: 'shut up, Zeke'."

"Shut up, Zeke."

"Louder."

"Shut up, Zeke."

"That's better." Zeke grabbed the remote and switched off the television. "What's going  
on with you, anyway?"

He didn't really expect an answer, and wasn't entirely surprised when Casey muttered,  
"Dunno."

"That's a child's answer, Casey. I think you must have a little more insight than  
that." Zeke made an effort to modify his tone. He had it in him to be patient with Casey,  
he realized. And, he realized, he really did want to know what was going on in his friend's  
head. He cared, enough to conclude that he was going to get the details out of Casey sooner  
rather than later. Enough to let him off the hook for right now.

  



	2. Chapter 2

The high school counsellor had showered him with calendars and program brochures but failed to provide him with a certain piece of information: College would be exactly like high school, only worse because there was not a soul who knew so much as his name. Their eyes moved through and past him, dismissing him as one of a thousand practitioners of intellectual success and social failure.

In his first month as a college student in Cincinnati, Casey learned that it was better to be known, even if the price was physical injury and constant fear.

His roommate, Steve, was an engineering student, a whole other species of nerd that somehow translated into the ultimate in campus cool. Almost every night Steve hosted dormitory festivities that, initially, were crammed into their room, and eventually were barely contained by the entire floor. Casey took to spending his evenings at the library. At one a.m. he would be forced to return to the residence and attempt to occupy the only space in the world where he had colour of right: his small, twin-sized bed. He would huddle under the covers with his headphones on and the volume turned up, trying to find some sleep before five in the morning when the last of the rabble finally returned to their own beds or collapsed in someone else's.

There was the night, not a month after he arrived when he wakened to the sensation of fingers prodding him.

"What's with the lump?" came a stranger's voice.

He had reacted before he was even fully conscious, tangling himself in his sheets and nearly falling off the bed in his haste to get away. He found himself in the small space between the bed and the wall, staring at Steve, two blond girls, and Steve's friend whose name, Casey recalled, was Eddie — short for Edgar of all things. All four were wasted of course.

"So who is this?" demanded one of the blonds — she who had just poked his arm — with that sort of belligerence that people seemed to think was funny when they were hammered.

"My roomie, Casey," Steve answered. "He doesn't like to have fun — isn't that right, Casey?"

Yes, I do. Just let me know when it starts.

"Aw, look at him," said the other girl. "Looks like he wants his mama."

"Casey, why don't you have a drink with us?" the first blond purred. "We'll be your friends..."

One of the great advantages of being the perpetual outsider was that peer pressure had no effect on him whatsoever. "I'd really just like to sleep."

"Aw, come on!"

"Really. And I could use a little quiet." A glance at his clock showed the time to be bloodygodawful in the morning.

"Fuck 'im," Steve said. "Let him be a loser if that what makes him happy."

They gave him his silence — relative silence — then. He curled up with his face to the wall and the covers over his head and succumbed to his own misery. He couldn't figure why their words hurt so much; they were nothing more than the typical juvenile insults he'd heard a thousand times before. He choked down his sobs knowing that if he was discovered in tears his life would descend to a heretofore undiscovered plateau of hell.

He had always figured that something was broken in him; some cog or gear that must turn smoothly if he was ever to feel things quasi-normally was smashed in pieces. But it was that night, that very moment, when he realized that the wrongness was gapingly visible to the world at large. He didn't have to do anything or say anything. People could just tell.

So it struck him as a bit of overkill when, on his way to class five hours later, his eye caught the poster stapled to the nearest lamp post.

It was the Time magazine cover, the one with him on it. It had been blown up to twice its original size and text had been added. In large, bold letters it stated: "Where are you, Casey Connor?" Casey moved closer to read the smaller text in the lower right corner. Headline: "The saviour of the world is here at our little campus. Contact us to report a sighting."

Casey cast around in a panic and saw that the posters were everywhere. They must have just appeared, he couldn't have missed seeing them on a previous day...could he? And as he looked around he realized that people were seeing him standing next to the poster.

Thus in his second month of college he learned that sometimes it was better not to be known at all. He had wanted to be known and now that he was he longed for the absolute anonymity he'd had only twenty-four hours ago. He hurried to his 8:00 class, dodging eye contact, and took his usual place, hunching in his seat and praying that it would not be like before. Before it had started with an initial, quiet respect but very quickly degenerated to snide comments, glances, whispers and an isolation that was — rather artificially — ameliorated by his bond with Zeke, Stokes, Stan and Delilah.

"Psst. Casey Connor?" The speaker was a girl of stark, gothic appearance who always sat three seats to his left and had never looked at him before. "That's you, right?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"What was it like?"

"What was what like?" he asked, teeth gritted.

"You know."

He'd received the impression somewhere along the line that college was full of people at least as smart as him if not smarter. He'd been worried about that but he was learning that he needn't have worried, really.

He wanted to run back to the dorm and hide but he had his elective that afternoon. Intro to Photography. He loved that course above all the others and not only because of the subject. The instructor was a young grad student of thirtyish looks, gorgeous like a product of Hollywood's golden era. During the second week of classes they'd had a Moment — at least, what seemed to Casey with his limited experience, a Moment. Right in the midst of the man's lecture their eyes had caught and held for what seemed at least twenty seconds to Casey but was probably more like two. This had led to a frantic masturbation session or two in the dorm showers — silly and harmless, and the guy probably hadn't even been looking at Casey. Still, he enjoyed the class as much for the rich fantasy material as for the blessed immersion in something other than physics.

Of course everyone in the room, about twenty-five people, was staring at him now. When the instructor breezed in he quickly realized that something about the class was wrong.

"What's with everyone today? Is there a world shortage of beer or something?"

Then his eyes found on Casey — just as before except this time Casey looked immediately at the floor.

As a teaching assistant the man must have lived and breathed campus culture and surely he wouldn't have missed the posters. But after that initial pause he simply went on with the class. It felt to Casey like a most gracious act of generosity, something of which he had given up all hope of ever being a beneficiary. It didn't help with the sense of unreality that was spreading through him, much like a limb falling asleep. At the end of the class he noted that he hadn't heard any of it, had no memory of being in the room for it. It was scary, but not scary enough. It was better than feeling things.

Casey tried to scuttle out, but a hand, warm and as big as Casey's father's, grasped his arm. "Wait."

The other students were brushing past, eyes big with curiosity.

Casey steeled himself, facing the instructor, not knowing what to suppose this was about — maybe to kick him out of the class for being too disruptive? He searched his brain for the name. Ellison. Doug? Dave?

"I..." the man began. "What's your name?" Casey couldn't believe he didn't know. His teacher shrugged. "I saw the posters, I didn't read them."

"Um...Casey Connor."

"Casey." The man smiled, and something stabbed through Casey with that smile. It was warm like his hand, and just for him. Plus the guy was just plain gorgeous, with longish, curly hair, sensuous brown eyes and lush lips. Casey had overheard more than one girl-chat about the man before and during class. "You seem to be having a difficult day."

At this lone gesture of something resembling empathy Casey felt tears grinding in his throat. He recognized it at once as something against which there could be no defense, the kind of emotional outburst he'd managed to hold back already too many times and this time would not be denied. He mashed his lips together to keep it from escaping, and felt them trembling absurdly.

"Casey, would you like to join me for a coffee? I'm free right now."

"I..." Casey choked. "Have...a class..."

The hand was reaching for his arm again but he twitched away, knowing that if those fingers made contact it would be his undoing. Headline: "Casey Connor breaks down in front of teacher, peers. Teacher unavailable for comment. 'Yeah', states room-mate Steve, 'He cries a lot. A regular waterworks.'"

The man, whatever his name, smiled again and let him have his miserable little bit of space. "Skip it."

 

They went off-campus, to an artsy little café-bookstore. It was the first time that Casey had experienced anything of Cinncinati outside his restricted environment of dorm and classroom. The fact was, he was afraid of the city, although with this older, plainly more experienced man guiding him it seemed not so very threatening...just new. The walls of the café were painted in warm shades of brown and the entire place smelled quite pleasingly of dust. There were people who looked like students around, but no one who gave them a second glance. His notoriety, it seemed, extended only to the borders of the campus.

"So, Casey. You seem very young to be in college."

"I'm almost eighteen," Casey replied.

"Like I said, very young. You must be special."

His companion had a way of looking at Casey that made him feel like he was genuinely fascinating. Casey kept stealing glances, noting all the little details that were mundane enough but somehow managed to add up to one major hottie. The thick head of hair was reminiscent of Hugh Grant, matched with golden brown eyes and a straight, perfect nose over that mesmerizing mouth. Even with his inexperience Casey could tell that the man had money. It was in his manicured hands, his designer sweater and shoes that most definitely did not come from Pay Less.

Casey blurted, "I don't remember your name."

This elicited a laugh that Casey instantly wanted to hear again. "Donald Windle. My friends call me Roy, though — short for "royal". You know, most people would have just struggled through the whole conversation and let me remain a stranger."

Casey didn't know what to say.

"You're quiet, aren't you? Listen, Casey. I know things probably seem pretty rough right now. First time away from home and you're just different enough from everyone else that it makes them uncomfortable. But I promise you — someday soon you'll be grateful for that difference." At Casey's expression, Roy gave him the laugh — oh, but it was a lovely sound. "You're probably thinking this is the speech I give to all the unhappy freshmen I take out for coffee. It isn't though." Roy lifted his café au lait bowl to his lips, took a sip, lowered it and said with a hint of coffee-coloured foam on his upper lip, his eyes never leaving Casey's, "I just feel inspired."

Oh, oh and oh. There was a tingling ache in Casey's gut. He clenched his hands together in his lap.

"You should probably say something now," Roy added.

He was obviously teasing, but Casey got even more flustered. Thoughts were tumbling over each other in his head, faster and faster and Roy was looking at him with that direct, searching gaze that seemed to know him completely and suddenly there were no words at all, just a great silence roaring in his mind that he could sort of watch and observe but had no power over.

"Okay," said Roy. "I'm sorry, that was me. I can get intense sometimes."

Perhaps it was safe to look up now. Casey ventured a quick little bit of eye-contact then returned to contemplating his coffee cup.

"So, Casey...it seems like you thwarted an alien invasion."

Casey glanced around furtively but the words had been quiet and no one heard. "Yeah," he said.

Roy's eyebrows were raised. "Really?"

"Really." Casey took a deep breath. The great silence collapsed into a corner of its cage...waiting. "I know everyone here thinks I'm nuts, they mostly do at home too, but it did happen. I wasn't the only person involved. Delilah, Stokes, Zeke—"

Absolutely inexplicably, his voice caught.

"You miss your friends," Roy intuited.

"They're hardly my friends, just...people I know."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I don't have friends."

"Casey. Everyone thinks that, especially when they're young."

Casey scowled. He hated that premise...you only feel this because you're young, when you grow up you'll realize you were wrong... "Except in my case it's true."

Roy laughed yet again. He seemed to laugh quite a lot, but it never felt malicious or mocking; he was just delighting in what he heard. "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I'm really dying to hear about your experience — the alien thing, I mean. If you don't want to tell me, I'll understand, but I'll still be curious."

Casey's heart sank a little. He had been thinking — hoping — that Roy was interested in something other than his claim to fame.

"That isn't why we're here, Casey. Really," Roy added at Casey's doubtful face. "It's just that now that it comes up..."

Casey took a deep breath. "You aren't working undercover for the campus paper, are you?"

This time Roy's laugh was positively joyful.

Surprising himself, he told Roy the whole story. Roy listened with fixed attention, forgetting his café au lait. At the conclusion he was thoughtful. He said nothing for what seemed to be a half an hour, while Casey trembled with the thought that he had just turned Roy off so completely that the man couldn't even bring himself to speak to him. Roy was probably thinking about how to get the nutbar the treatment he so blatantly needed.

"Wow," Roy said finally.

Casey couldn't say anything, still shaking. In earlier days, right after the event itself, he had told the story eagerly, needing to share it, make it a part of the Herrington narrative. Now he dreaded even thinking about it, for it loosed feelings that would drown him, and no one had wanted to hear when he tried to verbalize them.

"Can I ask you something, Casey? Were you ever tempted by it?"

This was the last thing Casey expected to hear. "Tempted...by what?"

"The oneness. That merger...losing yourself, your boundaries. We all fear it, and yet we're attracted by it, I think."

Casey shook his head. He thought he said "no"...but he didn't hear it.

"Not even a little?" Roy wondered. His shimmery eyes were on Casey in a way that Casey could not mistake. Knowing. Possessive, maybe. Casey remembered Zeke looking at him like that once, but it had passed and then he thought he had dreamed it. "You always feel on the outside, you say you have no friends...and you didn't want to join in that big communal entity, just a little? You don't want to lose yourself?"

The words shot by his normal filters and pummelled the part of his brain that controlled intelligent thought. He knew his mouth was open but no sound was coming out. He shivered all over, both fearing and longing for some proof that he was understanding what he thought he understood, that this beautiful male thing with the big, comforting hands and broad shoulders was really looking at him that way, offering to free him from himself.

"I'm upsetting you again," Roy said at last, in a more normal tone. "Well, I'm sure that this whole business will pass. People will lose interest. I wonder, though..."

"What?"

"You could probably milk this for a lot of free beer, not to mention the girls."

"I don't want to!" Casey heard himself say, far too loudly, and then he felt himself go crimson.

"Hmmm," was Roy's comment.

"I...I...I mean they have parties every night in my dorm and I can't get any sleep and — I'm kinda tired...." Casey's voice trailed away. He looked down at his hands and muttered, "I just wish I could get one night of real sleep." Then he might not say so many stupid things.

"You should consider moving out of the student residence," Roy said. "I could help you with that."

"Really? You would?"

"Don't sound so surprised! Of course, I would."

It was a nice idea, but... "My dad would never go for it. He doesn't have a lot of money."

"Oh." Roy shrugged. "That's too bad. I think the residences are a bad scene for anyone really interested in learning anything. Hey, you know what? Why don't we just take a look around tomorrow anyway? Maybe you'll find something your dad would be okay with."

 

There was no resisting this.

Resisting Roy because he was a man? Hardly. He had been feeling things around men his whole life, and was pretty used to the idea. There had been a time when he imagined it was a secret that many boys harboured, so he had proceeded to act as though he were attracted to women too. He had the magazines, the posters, the shallow obsession with Delilah. By the time Delilah dumped him it was fairly conclusive that women were not where he wanted to focus his energies. But until he met stunning, charismatic Roy, he had not been forced to acknowledge the gnawing of want that was under his skin. In the space of one day he abandoned the pretense of interest in women, and beyond that...well, being gay did not distress him unduly. It was knowing that he longed to give up what little autonomy he had, to just drift in someone else's care and let them navigate. That it was even possible to want something that much...it gave him pause. But there was no question of not giving in to it. It was too enormous; it flattened him the moment he turned to face it.

The next day Roy took him to the campus housing service. They got a list of possible digs and wandered around the student ghetto, checking prospects. Casey looked and sounded like he was searching for a place to live, but in truth he was just basking in Roy's presence, watching him move, speak, embracing every word that fell from his lips and turning it over in his mind like a precious artifact. He had dreamed about Roy the night before, dreamed of those hands on him, doing vague, undefined things to him. He had wakened to wet, sticky sheets and almost cried with the brusque shock of being suddenly alone.

Near the end of the day they had found a room in a building that housed three others like himself, students who were actually interested in studying. Roy was insistent that he should try to do this, even though he knew quite well that it would never happen. But he couldn't withstand Roy's enthusiasm and so he agreed to try.

The quest ended up on the sidewalk outside the student residence, where Roy had advocated passionately on his behalf with the residence manager for the return of his deposit. Because it was actually his father's deposit, however, there was nothing to be done. Casey would have to call his father and convince him that the move was in everyone's best interest.

"You can phone from my place," Roy offered. He had already figured out that Casey had little pocket money. Casey had an allowance of fifty dollars a month and that didn't go far.

"It's long distance."

"That's fine." Roy grinned, shrugged. "How about you come over and have supper with me?"

"I...um..."

Roy stepped in, put his hands gently on Casey's shoulders. "Casey Connor...please join me for a plate of spaghetti." He was so very charming about it that Casey had to laugh.

Roy lived alone in an apartment which was, while not opulent, certainly better than what most students could afford. It was in a restored brownstone dating back to the turn of the century, with original oak floors and trim. There was real furniture, a fully stocked kitchen, and an extra bedroom that served as an office. And like his clothes, the contents of the apartment were nothing but the best of everything.

Casey's eye was immediately drawn to the framed black and white prints on the walls, most of them portraits. "Is this your work?"

"Un-huh. What do you think?"

"It's awesome! Especially this one." Casey pointed to a candid shot of an elderly man. The subject had been captured at a moment of rapturous joy, a somewhat incongruous image in a world where elderly people were often stereotyped as sad or complacent or grouchy old cranks.

"That's one of my favourites too." Roy said, standing right behind him. Casey jumped and shivered as Roy's breath brushed his ear. "That man has worked for my father for about forty-five years. I remember him as a child, always so happy. I couldn't understand it."

"Understand what?" Casey asked, hyper-conscious of Roy's closeness.

"How a person could always be that happy."

Casey couldn't bear the tension anymore and moved away, focussing on the next picture. "You seem happy."

"Oh, I talk a good show, but I'm just like every other discontented schmuck."

You're not like everyone else. He wanted to say it, but for some reason he just couldn't. Why was it that giving compliments was such an exposure?

"Casey?"

He turned to face Roy. "I want to say something nice to you but I can't say it," he confessed. "I'm such a coward."

"You're not a coward," Roy protested, very soft. His face was less than a hand span away from Casey's. "You're afraid of a lot of things, but you're not a coward."

Roy continued to look down at him, with a steady, kind expression. He was waiting for Casey to make a move...or was he? A thousand such scenes, written by people who must have experienced them at some time or another, suggested ways to cross the distance of six inches, how to get two faces into contact. But in the wonderful world of make-believe there were always reliable signs leading up to the moment, if the writer was doing his job. In Casey's world nothing was ever as easy to interpret, and — God, he was so tired of trying.

"I'm sorry, Casey," Roy said softly. "I'm doing it again."

"What?" Casey's eyes burned. Sometimes he just wanted to smash in his own skull with a sledge hammer, just to make it all stop.

"I'm making you uncomfortable. Here...let me make it easier for you."

Just like that Roy tilted his head, and his lips brushed Casey's and Casey flinched back before he could help himself, like he had been stung by static electricity. Roy quickly put both hands on Casey's face, keeping him in place but very gently, leaving no more than two inches between their mouths.

"I..." Casey whispered, feeling quite prepared to run from the room in tears. Yes, that would be easier than staying.

"Shh..." Roy breathed, still cupping his face. "Poor baby...you're nothing but nerves, aren't you?"

Something that the un-nervous couldn't understand about the nervous was that a point always came when nerves demanded action, when something had to happen if the situation was to become bearable. That moment had arrived for Casey. He fastened his mouth onto Roy's, and there he was in the moment reveling in the taste of Roy, the very fact of Roy.

You could dam the anxiety, divert it, slow it to a trickle but it would still keep coming. A second after he kissed Roy he stopped being in the moment and started observing himself from outside his body and he didn't know how to be Casey at this moment. He pulled away just long enough to burrow into Roy, clinging with desperate fingers, hoping to hide from Roy in Roy's arms as tears got the better of him.

"Hey..." Roy carefully unwrapped him and held Casey's face in his hands again. "Shh..." he soothed, his thumb extending up and brushing away a droplet. "I think that this is all we can handle today, and it's fine, Casey, it's more than okay. It's wonderful. But for the rest of this evening I think we will just talk and eat and not worry about what might happen. Okay?"

Casey nodded.

"C'mere."

Roy drew him over to the sofa and pulled him down close to his body, whispering, "It's okay..." Casey wound his hands into Roy's sweater and hung on, tucking his head in under Roy's chin at the join of neck and shoulder.

"Hey," Roy wondered aloud. "Before...what did you want to say to me?"

"I..." Casey shuddered. "You're not average...you're special."

"Thank you, Casey. I appreciate that." Roy tightened his embrace a bit. "I happen to think you're above average yourself." He grabbed at a bright but beaten-looking afghan that was draped over the back of the couch. "I also think you're very tired right now. I want you to curl up here and take a nap and I'm going to go..."

Casey made a sound of protest.

"I'm just going to cook supper, Casey. I'll be right over there, not ten feet away."

Casey unclenched himself rather suddenly, leaving Roy looking at him with a bit of surprise. "I'm ridiculous," Casey muttered.

"It's not ridiculous to feel things deeply." Roy touched his cheek with a fond smile and stood up.

Casey did fall asleep then, exhausted from many nights of poor sleep and being in emotional overdrive all day. He dropped into a bottomless well of black, emerging after what could have been days just as easily as hours. It was a voice that penetrated the blackness, dragging him up to the surface.

"Who's this?"

"Ssh!" came Roy's voice from a distance.

The new voice, a male, receded a bit. "What are you doing with a freshman on your couch, Roy?"

"You don't know that he's a freshman."

"Oh, please. He's not only a freshman, he's a baby freshman straight out of some accelerated high school program. He looks about fourteen years old."

"Seventeen, for your information. I'm helping him out. He's been having a hard time in residence."

"Mmm hmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Casey decided he couldn't bear to hear anymore of what they might say and sat up, yawning as conspicuously as he could.

"Nice work, Sasha!" Roy's voice hissed. He came into view, with a welcoming smile. "Did you have a good nap, Casey?"

"Yeah," Casey answered, drawing the afghan around his shoulders. He felt crappy the way he always did after a nap, chilled and slightly sick.

The interloper had left the kitchen area and took a seat on the coffee table directly in front of him. He was of a somewhat thin build and, Casey had noted before he sat down, seemed to be well over six feet tall. His features were narrow, aquiline even; he reminded Casey of one of those European actors who were famous in Europe and barely known in North America. "Hi, I'm Sasha." He stuck out a hand, did what could only be called a double take, and exclaimed, "Casey Connor!"

Casey clutched his afghan tighter.

"Wow, I can't believe it! I'm in the presence of a celebrity here. The Squealer is looking for him to do an interview and you've got him stashed here on your couch — Roy, you dog!"

Roy pushed at Sasha, sliding him along the table until he was forced to take his feet or fall off. "Sasha...cut it out."

"What? I wasn't doing anything!"

"I'm sure you would love to wake up to some ugly mug pressed in your face too."

"Well, it depends on whose mug it is."

As quickly as it started the argument ended. Both men looked at Casey, who was yawning and rubbing his eyes. Then Sasha looked over at Roy and said absolutely nothing and Roy, for the first time since Casey met him, looked uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Well, it's good to meet you, Casey." Sasha sniffed. "Is that dinner I smell?"

"Yes-s-s," Roy mock-growled.

"Whatcha cookin'?"

Roy smiled down at Casey. "Just spaghetti sauce. I'll put the pasta on now. You hungry, Casey?"

Discovering suddenly that he was, Casey nodded.

"I suppose you can stay too, Sasha," Roy sighed. "Although the fare might be a bit ordinary for your tastes."

"Hey, I respect a hearty bolognese," Sasha protested.

"Well, this is more like Mom's tomato sauce."

"I love comfort food," Casey said, a little too quickly and he cringed inwardly at how he sounded.

Sasha looked at him with a knowing expression.

Over their meal, which was eaten around the kitchen island sitting on high stools, Casey decided that he did not like Sasha. He was blunt, he was over the top in every word and gesture, and he made unacceptable demands upon Roy's attention. Roy seemed to like him though, and that made Casey wonder if he himself were every bit as irritating as Sasha, and Roy only put up with him out of that wondrous generosity he seemed to possess in abundance. A person as beautiful as Roy probably had to deal with an endless parade of wannabes, flunkies and hangers-on, to which Casey now was forced to add himself.

In the middle of the meal the phone rang and Roy went to answer. Upon identifying who it was, Roy took the cordless phone with him to the bathroom and shut the door.

"That'll be dear old Dad," Sasha drawled. "King of Rubber."

Casey just looked at him, not wanting to encourage him by replying out loud; he had managed thus far during the meal by answering any direct questions with a nod or a head shake.

"Oh, claws in, kitten. I'll be gone soon enough and then you can have him all to yourself. That is, once Dad gets through with him."

Casey couldn't help himself. He asked, "Who is Dad?"

"You don't know? His father is Trent Windle. The family is old Ohio royalty. They have interests in various industrial type manufacturing things that I don't really understand. I know they're big in rubber though. Anyway, Daddy likes to keep a close eye on our boy. Seems to think since he's paying the whole shot he has a vested interest in what courses Roy takes and where he parks his car..."

"Are you old Ohio royalty?" Casey challenged.

"Nope. More like poor white trash."

"Poor white trash named like Russian aristocracy."

"Ooh, you're not just a pretty face, are you? Well, 'Alexander' is ordinary enough for my mother to like it. I always went by Alex until I came across 'Sasha' in a novel. I think it sounds so much more exotic, don't you?"

Casey shrugged.

"Anyway, Roy and I go way back — and in case you're wondering, we've never been involved. We're just pals with certain things in common."

"Like what?"

"Pretty eighteen year-old freshmen."

Casey wanted to punch him. "It's not...he's not..."

"Not what?" Sasha retorted, smug but not really mean. "Don't think I blame you, kitten. You can't help being adorable, any red-blooded queer can see that..."

Casey frowned, realizing how silly and unnecessarily adversverdana it would be to say, "I don't want to be adorable to you" even as he thought it.

"You don't like that? Sorry. How 'bout alluring and absolutely fabulous?" Sasha winked, and Casey couldn't not grin just a bit. He suddenly didn't dislike Sasha so much. "That's better, kitten."

"Don't call me that."

"Sure, I'll try, honey. But you have to realize that we queens set great stock in cutesy names. I may not be able to help myself...."

"Sasha." Roy had returned to the table, and his tone was a warning. "I hate that crap, you know that." He was changed; to Casey's eyes a black spell had been cast.

"All the more reason for me to do it," Sasha sang brightly.

"Yeah, well...suppose you go home now."

Sasha looked down at his plate, still half full of food. "Okay...sure." He got up, tossing his napkin angrily on the counter. "See you, Casey."

The door shut behind Sasha with a noise that resounded through the apartment — not quite a slam, but close.

Casey's initial discomfort was quickly settling into an indigestible knot. He sat staring at his lap, listening to Roy's fork scrape at his plate. From under his lids he watched as Roy's water glass ascended and descended, all with just a touch of violence towards innocent tableware. The fork settled with a decided tone.

"I'm sorry."

It sounded like Roy again, but Casey was wary. "M-maybe I should — I should leave."

"No, I want you here, Casey." Roy tilted his chin up with a finger. "I'll call Sasha and apologize. I shouldn't let my father get to me like that."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not." Straightening, Roy took Casey's mostly empty plate and Sasha's mostly full one. Stacking them, he asked, "Does your father get to you, Casey?"

"K-kind of." Casey noted the familiar pang that he always associated with Frank Connor. "Mostly, he ignores me." Roy's eyes met his sympathetically from the other side of the island. "I know he's disappointed but...he's never come out and said it."

Roy was rinsing the dirty dishes, organizing the mess to be dealt with later. "I think...in a lot of ways it's better not to know." Roy's back was to Casey. He was gripping the counter with two hands, bracing himself.

"Do — do you want to tell me about it?"

Roy let go of the counter. He turned, leaning his back against the sink, and offered a bitter laugh. "What's to tell? He thinks I'm sick and is determined to cure me. He thinks I fill my days cavorting with street hustlers — or worse, that I seduce innocent little boys..." Now Roy was staring at Casey, hard-eyed. He swiftly turned off the water tap and glided forward and around the island. "Well, he's not far wrong there..." he breathed, moving towards Casey who was still on his stool, feeling very much like a hypnotised rabbit.

But Roy simply took his hand and led him to the couch. For a while they just sat, side by side. Roy kept holding his hand, playing with it, massaging, drawing little figures on it — and Casey wondered, how could a hand be wired directly to his cock?

"I want to ask you something," Roy said softly. His other hand moved to Casey's opposite arm...his shoulder...fingers played lightly at his neck.

"What?" Casey asked breathlessly.

"I know I said we would just have the one kiss..."

"Oh."

That must have been his consent, for Roy's hand at his neck abruptly pushed at his chin, encouraging him to turn his head. Then Roy was kissing him insistently. A molten tongue teased his lips apart and began exploring the inside of his mouth, stealing his breath. Roy's hands were moving under his shirt, assuming permission. It seemed that Casey was engulfed and surrounded all at once, helpless under the onslaught of sensation. He didn't know where his own hands were or if he was capable of offering any initiative in their kiss — he could only respond as Roy and his own body directed. Casey focussed on keeping up, cataloguing how it felt to have that weight just pressing there, and a hand here...

"Casey," whispered Roy.

"What?"

"Stop thinking."

Roy then moved to stake a claim at his throat, lavishing the sensitive spots with a vampiric quantity of attention, at the same time turning and adjusting their bodies so they were lying down, Roy's weight on top of him. Roy had kneed Casey's legs apart and put one of his own in between so that their hips could fit together and Casey was put on notice of Roy's erection, burning hot even with their clothes between them.

It all felt wonderful but even still he was worrying, analyzing. Roy was in compete control of everything, and Casey would have been very happy to just let things unfold, to observe the responses of his body as a detached outsider, but what if Roy was actually waiting for him to do something? What if he was impatiently wondering why Casey didn't ask him to take his shirt off? Casey thought he would like to touch Roy, to just get the feel of him, the lines, the angles, the textures, to experiment for a few hours with stimulae and response...but it felt like anything he might do would be lame next to Roy's urgency and he wouldn't impersonate Roy. It would feel contrived, which would make him even more self-conscious and that wouldn't work—

Oh, no. Roy had stopped his frenzied activities; he sat up suddenly and turned away from Casey, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "Casey, I told you to stop thinking."

Casey had his legs trapped under Roy or he would have bolted. "I'm sorry," he croaked. "I'm sorry..."

Roy let out a long sigh and presented a face of wistful tolerance. "Oh, baby. Don't you know this is supposed to be fun? It's not supposed to give you an anxiety attack."

"But I..." Casey struggled to get the words past the tightness in his throat. "I — I want—"

"I know," Roy said. He extricated his legs and held out his arms, offering Casey arefuge. "You want to be perfect for me, but you already are, baby." He stroked Casey's hair away from his face and set about tracing his features — his jaw, his lips, his cheekbone — with his sensitive fingers. "You have no idea how beautiful you are. These glorious eyes, god, they just knock me over every time I look at you. And this little bud of a mouth...your skin..." Roy kissed his eyelids, the left then the right...and then the left again, making Casey giggle. The kiss meandered down along his jaw. "I love this hair that sticks up in every direction...and this slinky little body..." Roy put warm hands under Casey's shirt. "You don't have to do anything to be sexy, Casey."

"I..." Casey's breath caught as Roy made contact with his nipples. "I don't know...anything."

"I like that just fine too," Roy crooned. His hands, still moving, now grasped the bottom of Casey's shirt and firmly pulled it over his head, letting it fall on the floor. "So innocent...you're like a creature from another planet. Just let me...." Gently he pushed Casey down onto his back again, following him down to tease Casey's nipple with his mouth. He laved and sucked and nibbled, while slowly massaging their lower bodies together. The tension, the need to get more of their bare skin to meet began to erase all of Casey's fretting and wondering. He writhed and arched his back, suddenly amazed that it could become this easy, so easy.

"You want more," Roy stated, bucking against him hard and slow.

"Ye-es-s," he mewled.

"Just let go, Casey. Let it all go. You're doing wonderfully well.." So saying, Roy unbuttoned Casey's jeans.

"...Roy..."

"Lift your hips, baby."

Roy tugged, pulling down his jeans and underwear at once. Roy gazed at him, unembarrassed. "Beautiful," he murmured, leaning down and encompassing Casey's straining erection with his mouth.

Casey clawed the couch with one hand and Roy's hair with the other, emitting a noise that was half moan and half scream. His dick was enveloped in white hot heat and pressure that kicked the ass of every previous experience of masturbatory pleasure. It turned out that to fall to pieces was just fine. He was not thinking...not thinking..."Roy!" he cried.

When he could see again, he was staring up at Roy. Both their chests were heaving. Roy had taken off his own shirt and was licking his lips delicately.

"I'm sorry," Casey said before he could stop it but Roy only laughed, looking more beautiful than ever.

"Nothing to be sorry about, baby, I'm sorry...fuck, what you do to me." Roy was looking down with an expression of...was it, could it be? Casey was overcome by a need to babble. His whole brain had turned into some god-awful bit of poetry written by a foolish teenage girl.

"What?" asked Roy. "What is this look you're giving me?"

After an almost reverent pause, Casey whispered, "I think I love you."

Roy only smiled and lightly touched Casey's lips. Casey let his mouth drift open slightly, let two fingers play along them and then inside.

Casey reached up and put his hands on Roy's chest, lightly touching and fingering his skin, savouring the perfect lines of ridged muscle and trailing down to the hard belly. He felt fearless now, emptied, anxious only to give pleasure. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

"I'm all right, baby."

"But I want to...give you something."

Roy gazed steadily down at him, eyes dark with passion. "There is something that I want from you...but not yet."

"To fuck me."

Roy hissed and moved suddenly like it was too uncomfortable not to. "Shit..."

"I want you to do it."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea, Casey."

"Please," begged Casey. He figured he knew what he was asking for. He certainly knew the mechanics of it as well as any teenaged boy with a stash of gay porn. His parents hadn't known about that stash.

"Oh, Jesus..." muttered Roy.

Tentative at first, Casey put his hand on Roy's crotch and found the outline of the erection that was struggling for release from its confinement. He explored rhythm and pressure, paying attention to Roy's face, completely fascinated by what he saw. There, that was the place...Roy crushed Casey to him muttering unintelligibly. Casey unzipped Roy's jeans, which was awkward just then with their bodies mashed together, and reached for Roy's penis.

Roy took his hand and moved it away. "Wait."

He collapsed on top of Casey, resting his face in the hollow of Casey's shoulder for a moment. They twisted and squirmed until they had found a slightly more comfortable arrangement, Roy lying on his side with Casey spooned in front of him. Roy's erection was poking his back. Casey sensed that Roy was struggling with some misconceived but noble concern that it was too soon or too much. But nothing was too soon or too much, not any more.

Casey sighed. He tugged at Roy's arm, wrapping it around himself, and began to play with his fingers like a child would. "Roy."

"Yeah?"

"Am I doing all right?"

Roy laughed, somewhat tightly. "More than all right."

"'Cuz I've been worried that I wouldn't be any good at it."

"Was there never anyone else? In high school?"

"Well, Delilah, but—"

"Hmm?"

"She said I 'sucked a lame-o lollipop'. And then she dumped me."

"Sounds like a lovely girl."

"She was right, though. I was so nervous all the time. She never would've even looked at me twice if all that stuff hadn't happened."

"That 'stuff' about aliens? Maybe what she saw was the wonderful, brave person you are." Roy kissed the base of Casey's neck very gently. "Although to tell the truth, she sounds pretty shallow."

"Delilah's...she doesn't like to seem vulnerable. She doesn't like to see it in others either — especially if they're her boyfriend."

"How sad for her." Roy stroked Casey's hair. "Do you want to tell me what happened when you and Delilah did the nasty?"

"Not really," Casey mumbled. "I...she...just...I thought I would feel more. I expected to be sort of..."

"Swept away?"

"Yeah. But it didn't happen. I...had to think about one of my male friends to do it."

"Have you ever been attracted to a woman?"

"I thought I was, to Delilah. I watched her, I wanted to touch her...I had photos of her. But in my fantasies it — it was always someone else."

"Who?"

"Zeke."

"He was one of your friends. I think you mentioned him earlier."

"I had such a crush on him. He was..." Casey hesitated a bit. "...he was the star of the Casey Connor Show."

Roy tightened his arms around Casey. "Not this time, I hope."

"Oh, no!" Casey struggled to rotate himself, to look up at Roy. "No, all I was thinking about was you — really!"

"Hmmm," Roy mused, his eyes glinting possessively.

Perhaps Roy was teasing, but Casey couldn't chance it. He whispered, "Please believe me...he's been burned away. There's only you now."

Roy's lips came down on his; his tongue demanded entry. One hand was wrapped around Casey's neck; the other was behind, pushing up so that Roy could get in farther than ever, halfway down his throat. Casey saw that everything up until now had been play. Roy's teeth were sharp, biting where before all had been gentle pressure and teasing. His erection was forced between Casey's bare thighs,and Roy started to hump against him, pulling him hard against him with hip bones grinding and knocking, his entire weight resting on the one knee that pressed down on Casey's leg. Casey opened his mouth to cry out, either in pain or pained pleasure, and found the noise stopped by Roy's hand. Casey was surrounded and ambushed and he never wanted it to stop. Now he felt an emptiness yawning, knew Roy was taking up residence there, pushing out to fill the dark corners.

Roy's hand slipped, three fingers finding their way into Casey's mouth, thumb under his chin. Casey sucked on them, letting his saliva coat them and when they were taken away Casey groaned, "Put them in me."

Roy muttered, "We need a condom — lube — in the bedroom." He managed to get to his feet gracefully, which wasn't easy. He offered a hand to Casey; Casey took it and allowed himself to be drawn down the hall.

With Casey in his bed Roy became considerate again, holding and stroking and tasting, but filled with a dark-eyed peremptory need. Casey was conscious of little save the sensation of want and pleasure, the way a finger drawn along the underside of his jaw made his stomach tremble, or a thigh brushing against his cock was becoming an instrument of torture. "Love this," Roy breathed, tracing the spaces around Casey's eyes. "And this. And..." He smiled, seeing that Casey was speechless. "You should say something."

Casey shook his head. Sometimes a silence got hold of him that was too vast to cross.

Roy sighed, "My Casey...I'm the first one inside you."

The first human, anyway. The thought popped into Casey's head, but it didn't stay where he had any access to it.

It hurt at first, even with the lube and Roy's careful efforts. Really hurt but he didn't make a sound or flinch. Pain always came first, that was what he knew about the world. Pain was the cost of feeling. The pay-off was when Roy touched that place inside him that made him leap up on a sob, a kind of gasp.

"That's good, isn't it?"

He nodded eagerly. "Do it again!"

The sensations that invaded him should have made him scream, but it wasn't screaming, it was something else, like crying. He was a creature that only wanted the satisfaction of its ache. He heard himself make sounds and observed himself holding his body open and marvelled amidst it all that there could be no embarrassment, no fear. Then Roy was inside him and the pain stopped his breath for a while, until they found that miracle again, that one little spot that switched on all the lights in the house and he got a really good look at everything for the first time and the idea fluttered through him that this must have been what Mary Beth meant? No fear, no pain, she said...but yes pain, pain that he never wanted to stop.

 

Sleeping together was not comfortable, physically-speaking. It was too much about trying not to get in the other person's way and adjusting the covers so they weren't too hot or too cold. So Casey wound himself around Roy and laid his head on Roy's shoulder and never really slept much. He nodded off for a while just before dawn and woke shortly to full morning, very conscious of his need for a shower. His wakeful movements stirred Roy, who made a pleased noise and cuddled him close, blowing morning breath on his face at an angle that tickled.

"Casey."

"Hi." Casey knew he was wearing a huge smile.

Roy returned it. "Did you sleep?"

"A bit."

"Just a bit?" Roy bumped their foreheads together. "You have way too many thoughts running around in your head, you know that?"

"But you stopped them," Casey said softly.

"I'll take that as a high compliment." Roy kissed his nose. "Casey...we have to keep this—" Roy waved a lazy hand in a circle, between himself and Casey "—a secret. All right? Sasha knows but he's the only one."

Pretty near everything in his life that was real was a secret, so it didn't come as a surprise that this had to be too.

"Casey, listen to me. This is serious. You realize what people would think if they knew — what they would think of me, especially? I'm ten years older than you."

"I understand," Casey said, determined to let Roy know that he was not making a mistake in being with someone so much younger, that Casey was mature beyond his years. Roy suddenly tore away from Casey to look at the digital clock at his bedside. "Nine thirty-four...oh, shit...fuck me..."

"What?" Casey wanted to know, alarmed. He sat up and, acting instinctively, put his hand on Roy's shoulder. "What's wrong?"

Roy was out of the bed, talking and not looking at him. "You have to go...please. My father will be here at 10:00 and I need to clean up..."

Casey managed to squelch his initial hurt. He had promised after all, and he already understood that secrecy from Roy's father was a priority. "Can't I take a shower, and we'll just pretend you're tutoring me?"

Roy turned, and Casey was entranced by his naked splendour. "A five minute shower, but then you must go, Casey. If he sees you he'll never believe for a second that you're here to be tutored. For Christ's sake..." Roy ran his hands up through his hair. "You look as though you've been mauled — now quickly, please."

Infected by Roy's panic, Casey acquiesced, showering quickly. His first few moments of activity as he got up were edged with pain that was hard to ignore, but the hot water took a lot of the stiffness and discomfort away. He was still sore after, but it was not unbearable. The moment he was dressed, Roy had him by the sleeve and was pulling him to the door.

"I'll make this up to you, Casey, I swear it." They exchanged a hasty kiss and Roy, as had become his signature expression of affection, cupped Casey's face in his hands, sketching his jaw and cheekbone. "Now, don't fret...I have no intention of letting you get away from me."

"When will I see you?" Casey asked.

"Um...tonight? I'm going to see that show on Depression Era photography...but after I'll call you, alright?"

"I could go with you," said Casey, trying to hug him.

"No." Roy pushed him back. "That isn't possible. I'll understand if you'd rather find something else to do later—"

"No!" Casey answered quickly. "I'll wait. I'll study until you call."

Casey walked to his residence, and he actually waved to one or two of his peers, those people who generally didn't give him the time of day. He knew he had a silly smile on his face but he didn't care. Roy was running all over his body like the most exhilarating drug.

Back in his room, he lay on his bed and let his brain spin a future where he and Roy were getting an apartment together. They would go to parties and dinners together ...everyone admires the couple and envies Casey especially. Roy takes Casey to his family home and presents him to his parents, who are standing at the top of a grand staircase looking down disdainfully. "This is Casey, whom I love," Roy says. "You can choose to hate us or share our life with us, but I won't give him up." "Well, son," his father replies, stern and silvery-haired like James Coburn or Jimmy Stewart, "I can't saythis hasn't caught me by surprise, and it isn't what I would have chosen for my son. But he seems a decent sort." And Roy's father holds out his hand to Casey. "Are you sure this scoundrel is worth keeping?" he says with a smile and Casey answers, "Yes, sir."

Casey had to leave the fantasy for Newtonian laws and quantum mechanics, but the smile never left his soul, and he barely noticed the continuing fallout from the posters. It could hardly be that the whole poster business had started only two days ago. Everything felt different; he knew that there was commentary going on behind his back but none of it affected him.

That evening Casey studied in the residence common room instead of going to the library. He thought occasionally of Roy languishing in the company of snobby friends and dreading every second until he could get home and call Casey. Casey went back to his room at nine to be ready for it. When 11:00 p.m. came and went, and Roy had not called, Casey imagined that it had been more difficult than Roy anticipated to get away. At midnight Casey started to imagine car and bus accidents. He picked up the phone to call Roy's cell phone about ten times before he actually dialled, after 1:00 a.m..

"Roy here." Casey immediately heard the sound of a lot people talking and laughing in the background. A party in full swing.

"Roy?"

"Yes?"

"It's --- Casey."

"I know."

"I...was wondering when you were going to call."

"Just a moment."

Casey heard the noise recede somewhat.

"Casey," whispered Roy. "I can't talk right now."

"But I thought you'd be done by now."

"I'm sorry, but I can't exactly tell them about you..."

Someone in the background shouted, "Roy! Get over here, you shit!" and there was an explosion of laughter.

"I have to go," Roy said, and Casey could hear his impatience clearly. "You know, it's so late now. How about I call you in the morning? We'll go for breakfast."

"Okay," Casey said.

Putting the phone down, he felt a slightly nauseous heat in his gut and crammed the feeling down in a tiny little space somewhere between his stomach and his spleen. Roy couldn't say he had to meet someone without explaining who and why, and it wasn't helpful of Casey to phone him and make those friends suspicious. The sounds of laughter and group enjoyment didn't necessarily lead to the inference that Roy was enjoying himself.

Casey snuggled down to sleep, hoping the morning would come soon.

 

The semester, which had been crawling by on snails legs, was now flying by as Casey spent every second he could with Roy. Unfortunately, although he himself had a lot of seconds to spare, Roy was always having to go to this or that gathering, or a party at some downtown condominium or club. On nights when Roy went out, Casey generally would wait for Roy at his apartment; the talk of Casey getting his own apartment had been abandoned quickly. Casey would nod off in Roy's bed and waken to the sweet taste of Roy's lips, spiced with cigarette smoke and whiskey.

Casey wasn't so naive that he didn't realize how some would view their relationship. He knew it wasn't like that, though. That first semester they spent hours together wandering the city, taking photos and talking. Roy took Casey to some of his favourite places, places Casey never would have found on his own. One day in November they went to a second-hand shop and Roy had a grand time re-clothing Casey, making him over into a typical college student. By then Casey's hair had become quite long as well, and with Roy's encouragement he kept it longer but styled into something more up-to-date. He couldn't quite believe he was looking at himself when he peered at a mirror. Roy told him he was beautiful, but he only saw a cardboard cut-out, desperately trying to look like someone real.

 

"Casey."

"Mmm," Casey replied. It was three weeks before Christmas break and they were cuddled on Roy's couch half-watching "A Christmas Story". Earlier they had discovered that they both liked to watch it every year and sat down to practice the tradition together, but Casey's head wound up on Roy's lap and he was soon drowsing, his body more interested in catching up on sleep that had been lost to studying for final exams.

"What would you say to coming home with me for Christmas?"

Casey sat upright, feeling a silly grin spread over his face. "Really?"

Roy smiled back and took his hand. He was always doing that, touching Casey with such tenderness that Casey's insides would start to quiver. "I've been thinking it might be possible."

"And I would meet your family?"

This brought about a frown. "That's not possible, Casey. If you come, my mother and father can't know you're there."

Casey experienced that spinning, that slight nausea that he got from time to time, whenever Roy said something that brought home to him the fact that he didn't really exist outside this apartment. "I don't understand..."

"We have a guest cottage. I often stay there when I'm home. It's two miles from the main house, I generally have privacy there." Roy wore the self-effacing expression that Casey could never resist; he was the only person Casey had ever known who seemed to have a charm dial they could turn up and down, just like that. Zeke had something of the gift, but he had never developed the kind of fine control over it that Roy had. "Just think...we could have our own tree, our own Christmas together."

"Wouldn't you have to be with your family?" Casey asked doubtfully, thinking of his own parents.

"Traditionally we have a huge Christmas party a couple of days before the twenty-fifth and then my parents take off on a trip...usually to separate locations. I can't remember the last time I had anything to look forward to on Christmas Day. Of course the staff do a big turkey thing but I could easily say I'm going to be elsewhere."

"What about your brother and sister..." Casey was in possession of only cursory details about Roy's family, limited more or less to names and relevant numeric values.

"They're usually somewhere else too."

Somewhat to his own surprise, Casey was reluctant. As much as he wanted to be with Roy, he had never spent a Christmas away from his family. This semester had been the first time in his life he had been separated from his parents for more than a week, and he actually had been looking forward to going home for the break.

"C'mon, baby..." Roy coaxed.

Casey didn't say anything.

"Well, at least give me a shot at changing your mind." Roy wore a mischievous expression.

"Oh, no..."

Roy tackled him, getting his hands into all sorts of controversial places. "Oh, yes!"

"But I really want to...ah!"

"You were saying?"

"Unhh...Roy..."

"Stop?"

"Mmm..."

"Okay, I'll stop. But what if I want to..."

Casey gasped.

"Do you want me to stop this?"

"N-n-no."

"How about this? Do you want me to stop this then?"

"No, please—"

"All right, but I don't see how I can keep on doing this if you're two hundred miles away."

Casey saw his point.

His parents were less than thrilled. His mother actually cried when he told her over the phone that he was going to go to a friend's instead of coming home for Christmas. For about an hour after he hung up he was certain he had made a mistake. He rehearsed several different speeches where he told Roy that he wasn't coming after all, and got himself worked up into a state close to panic — until Roy was in the room with him and the speech, the anxiety, and the intention to cancel the visit all vanished.

When he saw the cottage he was content with his decision all over again. The place was beautiful; a one-room cottage built in the late 1800's, it boasted all the original stone walls and hearth but was completely furnished with modern amenities. Roy had already arranged to have a ten-foot spruce tree brought in, which they decorated together on their first night there. They exchanged gifts, most of them from Roy to Casey but Casey was very proud of his gift to Roy, to which he had dedicated the entirety of his last two monthly allowances from his father. It was a print of an Annie Leibniz portrait of Robert De Niro, a particular favourite of Roy's, framed to match those in his apartment, and Casey could barely stand the anticipation of seeing him open it.

Roy cried when he had the wrapping off it. "No one else sees who I am," he said and clutched Casey to him fiercely.

On their second night Roy had to be in attendance for his family's Christmas gathering up at the main house. Casey was pleased to be truly alone for the first time in quite a while, although he was expecting Roy to return by midnight. Wrapped in his coat and hat and scarf, he sat out on the porch for hours, going inside only when he could no longer feel his toes. He made cocoa, stoked the fire and lit candles, and finally stretched out in front of the hearth, imagining how they would make love there when Roy got back.

He was startled awake by a crash and Roy's voice cursing. The fire was reduced to red sparks on black; most of the candles had burned themselves out too, leaving a rather dark room.

"....ouch! What...why are all the lights out! Casey!"

The electric lights came on. Casey had to shield his eyes, dopey with sleep.

"What's with the candles!"

Roy was coming into focus but Casey didn't need to see him to know that he was drunk and angry.

"I couldn't see the damned keyhole...why'd you lock it?"

"It wasn't locked."

"It sure the fuck was locked!"

"I didn't lock it, Roy." Casey's gut was burning now, his cheeks hot as nerves re-established dominance over bone and muscle, setting his body trembling. He had never argued with Roy before; Roy had never even raised his voice in Casey's presence. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Roy peeled off his coat, got his arms a bit tangled and ended up kicking and stomping an innocent article of clothing as it lay trampled on the floor.

"Roy...what — what's the matter?"

Roy's entire face was closed, hard. The personality change was as complete as that of the faculty, and the student body, even eventually Stan and Delilah who had taunted Casey and Stokely with their combined lifetime achievement as misfits. Trust was a redundancy; one could only try to be prepared except you never really were prepared if you let yourself believe that you could know anyone, and you did let yourself believe that, you had to or be alone. "My father...my splendid, wonderful, omniscient father..."

"What? What did he do?"

"He's trying to arrange a marriage for me, if you can believe it." Roy yanked off a boot, overbalancing himself in the process. He threw the boot on the floor. "Fuck."

"M-marriage..."

"This girl I've known since we were kids. Medieval as it sounds, my parents have always wanted to join our two houses."

Casey sat down on one of the couches. He was shivery and cold, his heart still thudding away, acid burning holes in his stomach. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, Casey," Roy replied nastily. "I always do what papa wants." He tried for a laugh, a short, humourless bark of a sound. "And I have to be at the house tomorrow night."

"But..." Casey found he didn't have the breath to speak. His voice was a breathless squeak. "That's Christmas Eve."

"Yes, it is," spat Roy, slamming down his other boot. Then he appeared to notice how agitated Casey was getting. "Oh, baby. I'm sorry." He rushed to sit next to Casey and hugged him. "Don't ever be scared of me, please."

"I'm not scared." But he was. Not of Roy's violence towards inanimate objects, but that word "engagement". He spoke over Roy's shoulder, stammering, "You — you're going to — to be engaged...tomorrow?"

Roy gripped Casey's shoulders, holding them firmly and pulling back to look him in the eye. "It's more like a promise to kinda sorta promise. I'm not going to spend my life with her."

"Roy..." Casey began, forcing the words out of a tight throat. "What would happen if...if..."

"If what?"

"If you...told your family...about..."

"The fact that I like to fuck boys?"

Casey couldn't meet his gaze. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, my father kind of already knows, although he believes I'm not...active."

"I mean..."

"Come out? That's out of the question."

Casey ventured a little criticism. "You always say that. Why is it out of the question?"

"It just is."

"But—"

"Casey!" Roy shook him, three hard shakes. "Grow up! Everything doesn't always work out because two people love each other. In fact you can pretty much count on it being fucked."

Casey removed himself from Roy's grasp. His heart was pounding so hard he could taste it, yet to his own amazement he was still talking. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"I can't believe you—! You have no idea about the kind of rules I live with. I would be an outcast...and maybe you think I'm a shallow fucking bastard for caring about such things, but I can't have my own father hate me. I can't."

Casey blurted, "Why don't you try being hated? You do survive it."

"Oh, and how do I survive it? Like you, Casey? You don't seem to be surviving very well at all. Why don't you try coming out on top of everything else?"

"I will," Casey declared.

"I don't doubt you will. It's not like you have anything to lose."

At this, Casey turned about and headed for the door. His coat and boots were there, a small mercy. He had the coat on by the time Roy had taken in that he was preparing to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I want to go home."

"And do what?"

"Be with my — my family." Casey squared his shoulders, trying to ignore the betrayal of his entire central nervous system — couldn't instinct opt just once for fight instead of flight? And dammit, could he not do this without getting moist around the eyes?

It was that word "family". Right now his Aunt Sally and Uncle Joshua were arriving from Sandusky with his two little cousins and the new baby that he hadn't seen yet even though she was almost a year old. His Aunt Clarissa, who was an artist and yoga instructor and lived in Santa Fe would have arrived a few days early to stay with them. She was "the cool sister", always taking an interest in Casey, encouraging his photography and inviting him to join her yoga practice when she visited. Dad always hated that, a factor that only made it more worth the doing. They would all be together on Christmas Day, and for dinner his mother always made those ridiculous sweet potatoes with marshmallows because she knew how Casey loved them...

Oh, God. Where was he? He didn't know where he was. His surroundings had become threatening. What was he doing here?

"You're not leaving," said the bewildering stranger who only hours ago had been the person with whom he felt most safe. "You need me to give you a ride into town and I'm not volunteering."

More tears squeezed out under Casey's lids as he pictured scenes of comfort at home. "I'll walk, then."

He bent down to put on his boots. Roy kicked one of them across the room, startling Casey back against the door. He stared helplessly at Roy.

There was just a tiny bit of a smile on Roy's lips. "It's too cold," he said, folding his arms. "You'll freeze."

Stuff like this had happened before. Familiar faces abruptly changed and they became enemies and he had coped, right? He had options...he could kill the monster... but it wasn't a monster, it was Roy...or was he a monster? Was he one of them?

"I want to go home," was what he was reduced to saying. His lip was probably even sticking out. "Please."

Roy was shaking his head and smiling at him like he was a very pleasing pet, being really cute for biscuits. "Oh, Casey...don't get upset now."

But he was upset. Really. Fucking. Upset. His breath was coming faster and faster yet it didn't seem he could get any air and he was clearly clearly clearly not safe here with this stranger. It wore a face he knew but it was not someone who would not hurt him and he couldn't breathe...he squeezed his eyes shut and focussed on getting oxygen.

Hands. He flings them off with a cry and scuttles backward but something stops him hard and flat a wall and the hands are what and when he can't get away from and then — then—

It just all goes away.

Casey blinked.

He was lying on the couch in a place he knew, with a person he knew. Roy was kissing him, the flavour was liquor and prime rib and mushrooms and Roy himself. It seemed that the thing to do was to fling himself into the kiss. It tasted so good...so real...

He opened his eyes to Roy's visage hovering over him. "There you are," Roy whispered. "That's my baby." He pushed Casey's coat aside and opened his shirt, undoing the buttons like it was his prerogative.

"I want...to go home," Casey murmured, although if he was honest he couldn't really remember where that was or why he wanted to go there.

Roy didn't answer that. He stood, towering over Casey who remained lying on the couch, and he just took off all his clothes. Casey gazed up at him, unable to tear his eyes away from Roy, especially the erect penis that was so obviously meant for him. "Let's go to bed," Roy said. He walked away, leaving Casey enough autonomy to follow or not.

Casey followed, stripping his own clothing as he went. He climbed on the bed and settled in beside Roy, running a hand lightly up and down Roy's smooth chest, taking Roy's cock and just holding it. "What do you want?"

"Suck me off...put that hot little mouth on me." Roy kissed him savagely, biting his lips hard enough to draw blood. "And then after you bring me back," he mused, lapping briefly at Casey's mouth, "I'm going to fuck you until you can't remember your name." Casey moaned and writhed against him. "I want to debauch this sweet body on Christmas Day too," Roy went on in a hiss. "I'd like to go shake hands with my father tomorrow and wish him a good year and think about you waiting here for me naked in this bed, drunk with wanting me." He pushed at Casey's shoulders, gently but firmly, urging Casey's mouth down towards his crotch. "Will you do that for me?"


	3. Chapter 3

Zeke had always hated to share a bed. He had nothing against the concept in principle,  
but he liked to enjoy a sprawl or toss or whatever he needed without having to worry about  
disturbing a body lying in close proximity. He and Delilah had purchased a king-sized bed,  
which allowed them to sleep together without touching each other. If one of them were feeling  
affectionate  it happened from time to time  they would snuggle for a half hour  
or so and then move apart to find sleep. The arrangement had seemed satisfactory; if Delilah  
was unhappy with it she had never given any indication. Zeke had always been content in the  
knowledge that he was just not a cuddler. Even as a child he had been aloof, or so his mother  
had made a point of telling everyone.

Casey liked to cuddle though. Hell, that was a vast understatement  Casey was into  
full non-sexual inter-body penetration. After the guy-on-guy debacle, they had settled in  
for the night on the same double bed where all the drama had unfolded. Yes, he and Casey  
Connor were sleeping together if anyone was interested, except that there would be no sleep  
for Zeke. It was not enough for Casey to be near him; Casey had half-draped himself on Zeke's  
chest and was pressed so close that Zeke feared unsettling him every time he took a breath.  
Casey was holding onto Zeke's shirt with two hands, his eyes were squeezed shut and he was  
working harder altogether than could possibly be restful. Zeke endured for a while before  
beginning to squirm and shift into comfort but Casey never stirred and wouldn't let go of  
him either. Zeke gave up on sleep after some time and flicked on the television, keeping the  
volume low.

So he was surprised when he woke to a test pattern and sunlight struggling through the  
heavy, polyester curtains. His sleeping companion had changed his position just slightly; he  
was pressed closed to Zeke still but was no longer clinging. His hands were fisted, curled  
against his own chest, his forehead touching Zeke's shoulder. Zeke dozed for bit, enjoying  
a sleepy sedation that was content to be still just now.

His cell phone, lying on the nearby dresser, jangled its little tune. Even though it was  
not terribly loud, it was high-pitched and extremely intrusive although usually it didn't  
bother him nearly as much as it did now. Casey came awake with a violent twitch, the kind  
where one was almost literally ripped from the depth of sleep. Zeke snatched up the thing  
before it could ring again.

Unexpectedly, it was Casey's mom. "Is Casey with you, Zeke?" she demanded without prologue  
or preamble.

He glanced over, saw Casey blinking, struggling to orient himself. Sleep had smashed his  
hair into a new configuration that some people might spend hours to achieve through careful  
disarray. "Um...yes..."

"Do you think you or Casey might have bothered to give me a call and let me know?"

The woman actually sounded angry. Zeke hadn't thought that could happen.

"Can I talk to Casey, please?"

Feeling genuinely regretful, he handed the phone to his friend and took himself to the  
bathroom for the ritual morning piss. While he was there he brushed away his morning breath,  
and...hell, might as well shave too. A change of clothes was recommended. He hated the  
feeling of waking up in the same clothes from the day before, not that it was so frequent  
an occurrence.

He came out of the bathroom to find Casey sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in his  
lap, looking all of about twelve years old. Zeke could not reconcile this person with the  
one who had expertly brought him off the night before.

"Your mom was a little upset," he observed, trying to tamp down a fresh surge of  
discomfort. If Casey wasn't suffering any embarrassment over it, why should he?

Casey seemed a bit shocked by his mom's anger. "I should have called last night."

There was no mother on the planet, it seemed, who could not twist her offspring up like  
a pretzel when it suited her. Still, the poor woman had probably spent the night envisioning  
her son floating face-down in the nearest river, or some other gruesome image of finality.  
In that light, the failure to call did seem particularly thoughtless. Zeke was surprised  
she had waited as long as she had  the clock indicated 6:37 in the a.m.  to  
call.

Damn. So now Allison Connor knew that he and Casey spent the night together. Maybe she  
didn't care, but she might without any awareness of its potential impact share this  
information with Celia Profitt, who probably knew by now that the wedding was off and was  
sitting at home sharpening her claws. Telling everyone in town that he was with Casey Connor  
would be just her idea of revenge.

His eyes had found Casey's. He took to staring as he turned over the unpleasant  
speculations and Casey couldn't meet his gaze for long. They were both waiting for Zeke to  
make up his mind about how much he could handle.

Zeke took a deep breath, let it out meditatively, loosing some of his tension. If there  
was damage it was already done, and whatever else was between them, he still enjoyed Casey's  
company. He was not going to deprive himself of it. "Let's get some breakfast," he  
proposed.

"Okay."

"How about the Jam?" It was Zeke's favorite spot for breakfast  he went there at  
least twice a week.

"Okay."

There seemed no limit to Casey's willingness to submit and Zeke couldn't quite manage his  
reaction. "Do you have an opinion, Casey? 'Cuz if you do I want you to tell me."

Fuck. There went the waterworks.

"I like the Jam," Casey whispered, eyes glistening.

Zeke gave him another option. "Do you want to stop at home first?"

"Okay." The word was barely audible.

"No. Do _you_ want to stop at home first?"

This of course brought about the exact opposite of what Zeke wanted, which was to get some  
expression of...of..well, of Casey. Some indication that he still existed. Right now there  
was only an inert but very-attractive physical representation of Casey that kept making Zeke  
feel like a brute.

"I just want to...fuck, Casey, I'm trying not to be a domineering jerk here."

Casey produced a watery smile. "I know."

"So...do you need to go home before we eat?"

Casey shook his head, and Zeke let it go at that. He offered Casey his hand. "Let's go,  
then. I'm starving."

Casey came along quietly, Zeke's most recent outburst completely forgotten, or at least  
under wraps. Zeke made a mental note to watch himself, for when Casey's rage made an  
appearance, no sane man wanted to be in his path.

Fuck and double fuck. Delilah was in the building.

She was waiting in the hotel lobby, sitting perfectly straight and contained in a  
scotch-guarded wing-backed chair. She was particularly stunning this morning, and there was  
no evidence of the sadness that had weighed her down yesterday.

She spotted Casey right about the same moment that Zeke spotted her. Panic seared itself  
on Zeke's thoughts, making a bit of a tangle for a moment but he got hold of himself quickly  
and slipped on a Game Face.

"Casey!" exclaimed Delilah, offering an understated hug to that person  a single,  
uninvolved clasp. "It's good to see you. You look...actually, you look like shit." Her tone  
was gay, but her eyes serious. Concerned, even.

Casey, who had been taking in her appearance with the demeanor of a traumatized fawn,  
blinked once and stammered, "You-you look b-beautiful."

The flush in Delilah's skin deepened slightly. She knew damn well that she was beautiful  
 but she still liked to hear it. Zeke felt something stinging his Guy Ego  was  
that actually jealousy? What was _that_ for?

"You know," Delilah replied lightly, "you look beautiful too. Even if you do look like  
shit." Turning to Zeke, she said, very composed, "We need to discuss a few things."

"So discuss."

"Not _now_. How about lunch?"

Zeke glanced at Casey. "I have things to do."

"I'll bet you do," Delilah drawled. "However, unplanning a wedding takes a certain amount  
of work, Zeke. I'm not doing it all myself."

"All right, then."

"All I'm asking for is an hour of your precious time"

"I said okay! Where and when?"

"Anime?" It was a fairly pricey, high-end establishment frequented by Herrington's small  
sector of foodies and the socially ambitious. Delilah had always preferred the trendy  
spots.

"Fine."

"Twelve thirty?"

"Make it twelve."

"Whatever. Casey, why don't you come with?"

"It wouldn't be very much fun for him," Zeke protested before Casey could reply. "Watching  
us bicker over the assets."

"We have no assets except the house..." Delilah fretted.

She was worried he would go back on his promise; that was the underlying theme of this  
whole encounter. Zeke stated quickly, "Just an expression. I'll take care of _that_ business  
this morning." Inwardly, he sighed. Seemed like half the day was shot already. Reassured,  
Delilah smiled, a facial expression that Zeke generally treated as a warning. "So...you boys  
going for breakfast? The Jam?"

Casey gave a nod.

"No big shock there," she went on. "Zeke seems like a badass, but there's a doddering old  
crank inside him actually. 'In my day we could get a hearty breakfast for ten cents.' 'Hard  
to get real food these days'. He'd eat at that cheesy old diner every day."

"You put on bright red lipstick and fuck me heels every day," Zeke retorted quickly,  
letting her complete the analogy for herself.

"So?"

Zeke said, "Come on, Casey. I'm hungry."

Delilah's bright malice never wavered. "You spend the night, Casey?"

Casey, bless his depressive soul, didn't react. Without so much as a blink, he intoned,  
"No."

And it didn't sound like a lie.

Once they were in Zeke's mustang and out of range of Delilah Zeke had to say it: "Thank  
you."

Casey gave him his trademark Come-and-Exploit-Me face. He tilted his head slightly. "You  
didn't want her to know," he said. Like that was the only factor of any relevance.

"You know how she is," Zeke began.

"It's okay, Zeke." Casey's committed his gaze to whatever was on the road. "We only slept  
anyway."

Zeke spent the ten minutes from there to the Jam trying to analyze that statement, with  
little success. Was he supposed to read that as generosity, forgetfulness, or purposeful  
guilt making?

The waitress who received them knew Zeke, of course. He had been coming here several times  
a week for years now and knew all the servers by name. Anne was in her forties and always  
dropping flirty little comments, giving him the lustful eye  seemingly oblivious of the  
fact that she was twenty years his senior. That aside, he enjoyed being waited on by her;  
she was courteous and extremely efficient.

"Hi, Zeke." Anne's eyes were on his companion. Zeke thought he saw something prurient in  
her interest that made him tense immediately. "Er...I think I know you. You haven't been  
here for a while, though, right?"

Zeke saw that Casey had no intention of replying and answered for him, "Casey's been away  
at school."

"Oh, _Casey_!" Anne exclaimed. "I was trying to remember your name and it wasn't coming.  
You used to come in with Zeke once in a while." Her eyes flickered; above her head, a  
comic-book dialogue bubble proclaimed: "That's the one, the alien kid."

"You have a pretty good memory," Zeke said.

Here it was, the pass of the day: "That's not all I'm good at, honey."

Zeke saw Casey's eyes start to drift off in the direction of the window and said, a bit  
more curtly than was really called for, "Shall we sit?"

They took a booth. Casey immediately made himself busy studying the artificial wood grain  
in the tabletop. Zeke didn't mind that up to a point. It had given him ample opportunity to  
stare at Casey yesterday without Casey noticing, or at least if Casey was aware of it they  
didn't have to confront it. But now this obstinate determination not to look anyone in the  
eye was getting to Zeke. Zeke figured he should have been the exception; Casey should flinch  
from everyone else, not _him_. Everyone Else was what Zeke would protect him from.

"Aren't you going to look at the menu?" he queried.

Casey did look up then; a flash of startling, passive eyes that took him immediately back  
to last night, Casey giving him that sort of drunken stare while his mouth was wrapped most  
intimately around Zeke's flesh. Zeke shifted on the vinyl seat, the space inside his clothes  
shrinking.

Casey replied, "Just want...coffee."

His voice was low, pitched to deliver the message  but was it  
fuck-me-right-now-on-the-floor or first-of-the-morning-frog-in-the-throat? Did he even know  
he was doing it? Zeke struggled to stay focused. Toast, home fries, pancakes...drippy egg  
yolks and greasy, salty bacon... "You have to eat something. You barely ate a thing  
yesterday."

Casey shrugged.

Even knowing the cause, Zeke was becoming frustrated with the symptoms; like a parent who  
yelled at their sick child for coughing, he knew that it wasn't Casey's fault and yet there  
was this anger, this involuntary human response. "Well, you're going to order something and  
you're going to eat." Zeke made a mammoth effort and added more gently, "Okay?"

Casey's blunt little fingers wandered over the laminated plastic edge of the table. "I  
really just want coffee."

"Too bad. You can't come with me to look at apartments if you're passing out."

"I didn't know we were..."

"I do need to call my lawyer and see if I can get in today sometime  ideally this  
morning  and I should pop in at the store just to make sure it hasn't blown up or  
anything, but the rest of the day is for apartment-hunting, yeah."

"Oh."

"And there's lunch with Delilah."

"Zeke...I'm broke."

"Oh...no problem."

"But"

"Don't worry about it, Case."

"M-my dad..."

"Fuck 'im. No seriously. You're a student and you haven't been able to get a summer job.  
He should get off your back."

"I...I never tried."

"If you had the flu and couldn't get out of bed for a few weeks he wouldn't complain,  
would he? This is no different  which is not to say that I want you go back to your  
bed now." Zeke, feeling himself very brave, touched Casey's hand. Daring the eyes of Anne  
and everyone to see it. "You're going to get better, Casey. And for now I sure the hell  
don't mind buying you a few meals. I can afford it." He smiled at Casey, hoping to see it  
returned. "Are we okay now?"

"Yeah." Casey offered him the tiniest shred of a smile.

"Right, then."

"I'm...still not hungry."

"Fuck that!" he declared, mostly teasing. "You're going to eat something."

With perfect timing, Anne appeared. "Ready?"

"Yeah. I'll have my usual." It was "The Lumberjack": sausage, ham, bacon, eggs, pancakes,  
toast. Zeke looked expectantly at Casey, hoping to see him follow his example.

Casey shook his head slightly. "Just coffee."

Zeke was angry  for real, now. "Basic stack with a side of bacon," he countered. He  
knew for a fact that Casey liked pancakes...he remembered that. And who didn't like bacon?  
He snapped Casey's menu away from him, handed them both to Anne. "Thank you."

She walked away with eyebrows raised.

And as usual, remorse was a trifle late.

"Fuck. I'm sorry, Casey."

"It's"

"The thing is, I'm worried, and when I get worried I tend to get mad." Zeke smiled  
briefly. "You may have noticed."

Casey didn't say a word, hunched over his hands.

Zeke lowered his voice a notch. "This guy you were with...what was his name?"

"Roy."

"Did Roy get ever mad at you? Did he yell or-or hit you?"

"No."

"You can tell me, Casey."

Casey shook his head insistently. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what _was_ it like?" Zeke asked before he could assess whether he was ready to hear  
an answer.

Anyway, Casey was not to going give him one. The eyes were growing, breath increasing.  
"I don't want to talk about it."

Zeke couldn't overcome a pulse of relief that the subject would be dropped for now; he  
was just respecting Casey, right? He satisfied his conscience by saying, "But you do realize  
that at some point you'll have to? Even repressed macho types like myself understand  
that."

Their breakfasts arrived shortly. Zeke delved into his, anxious for something new to  
fixate on. It was hopeless, though. He was a confirmed voyeur of the person opposite him. He  
observed that Casey choked down six or eight bites over the course of twenty minutes, and he  
thought mostly about that soft willing mouth, the things it had made him feel  and  
could again. He thought about the inside of that mouth, how it might taste and how he wanted  
to use his tongue to map the small, white teeth, to get between and down and within. He was  
not disturbed in his meditations on this theme, all while he finished eating and paid the  
bill and got a newspaper and they headed on to their next destination.

"Shall we stop in at your place now?" he asked Casey. "I'm sure you'd like a change of  
clothes and whatnot. I'll check the paper while you're doing that...you could even take a  
shower if you like."

Christ, he was babbling. This was the third time he had asked; Casey probably imagined  
that Zeke was repulsed by some terrific body odor, which was just not true. While in close  
proximity to Casey last night Zeke had noticed a faint scent that had to be Casey's own, and  
was completely alluring as far as Zeke was concerned. It had always baffled Zeke that Delilah  
went to such lengths to erase her personal scent. She always smelled like soap, perfume,  
shampoo, hair spray, makeup...nothing of her own.

The state of the Connor driveway suggested the presence of both of Casey's parents. He  
had assumed...

"Your folks are here? Don't they have to go to work?"

"Vacation," Casey answered.

Stay in the car or wait inside? His protective instincts suggested the latter, but he  
really didn't want to ruin his day by dealing with Casey's neurologically-challenged father  
and his petty crap. Plus if he talked to the creep he might end up hitting him and that  
wouldn't help Casey any.

He stayed in the car.

"Casey? Is that you?"

His mom was doing something in the dining room and poked her head into the foyer the  
moment she heard the door open. She had her hair up in a vacation-day clip, sticking out the  
top and framing her face in soft wisps. She appeared slightly flustered.

"Hi, mom."

"Casey!" bellowed his dad from somewhere in the house-no doubt the family room where he  
would be well-ensconced already with chips and remote despite the early hour. Beer would  
complete the sacred triad one minute after midday. "I want to talk to you!"

He took himself reluctantly to the family room.

"I suppose," said his father, "it didn't occur to you that anyone might be worried."

"I'm sorry, Dad."

He flinched a little as his father's voice went up in volume.

"Your mother was up half the night! I know that _technically_ you're an adult but as  
long as you're living under this roof you can at least call if you're going to be out all  
night."

It must have been a relief to have something concrete to yell about. Casey tried to be  
suitably impressed. "Okay."

"I mean, you have to realize that your mother was very worried about you. We didn't know  
where you were, what you were doing..."

"I'm sorry."

"I should hope so." When there was nothing further for a few seconds Casey started to  
leave. "Casey. I'm not done...I want to know what's going on with you and Zeke Tyler."

Even at the best of times Casey wouldn't have been able to form a reply to this.

Mom had appeared beside him. "Frank," she said quietly. "They're friends."

"Friends, is it?" This with complete suspicion. "Seems to me that guy's been waiting in  
the wings all along."

Closing his eyes, Casey asked a pointless question: "What?"

"I mean that...ever since...that business when you were sixteen he's been sniffing around.  
Funny how he was engaged up until a few days ago when he figured out _you_ were in town and  
then suddenly he wasn't."

Casey figured that at some point he'd feel the anger his dad deserved for his comments  
but right now he was just too tired. Nor was he interested in unraveling the innuendo that  
was all knotted up with the paranoia. "Are you done?" he asked. "Because I need to shower  
and change. Zeke's waiting."

His father's eyes bulged. He got to his feet, struggling slightly to get out of the groove  
worn in his armchair by daily conditioning. "You stay away from him, do you hear me? Maybe  
if he wasn't around...you would have been different!"

Casey didn't know why he said what he said then. Occasionally things dripped from his  
mouth and he just watched them fall with a bit of appalled amazement. Or perhaps it was just  
the urge to self-destruct in as many ways as possible.

"Zeke didn't turn me to the dark side, Dad  I turned him. In fact, I sucked his  
cock last night and you know all it takes is one blow-job from a fag for a normal man to be  
infected." It would have been the perfect touch to leer as he said it and flounce out of  
the room but he just couldn't muster that, so the words came through a nihilistic vacuum,  
adorned with a healthy dollop of self-hate.

He did succeed in silencing both parents quite effectively. He let the shock linger in  
the air for a second or two and turned to go upstairs and shower, wondering how he was going  
to get through the day after expending all his energy to get up the stairs.

"You're sick!" his father shouted after him.

Almost six months to stew and still this was his best shot.

Casey had been determined to go home this past Christmas; he hadn't seen his parents for  
over a year because in addition to missing that first Christmas he hadn't gone home last  
summer. Instead, he had been convinced to move into Roy's apartment and spend the summer  
developing as a photographer under Roy's mentorship. He had been drawn by the idea of having  
nothing to do but soak up culture, picturing himself walking about the city, taking photos,  
visiting museums. As with most things, however, reality hadn't lived up to expectation. Roy  
was in and out of town, busy with some sort of work in his father's business that he didn't  
talk about and Casey didn't really have any interest in. Casey had spent the bulk of his  
time reading novels and going to the repertory movie theatre down the street. Some days would  
be spent in entirety watching one film after another, the world of celluloid displacing the  
world of walls where he slept and ate.

One unexpected gift of that summer had been his developing friendship with Sasha, perhaps  
the first friendship he had ever chosen for himself. Yes, he had become friends with Stan,  
Stokes, Zeke and Delilah, but those friendships had happened by accident. Even though his  
meeting Sasha was also an accident, the friendship was something he pursued. Sasha was  
studying to be a chef and had been coming to Roy's apartment to use his kitchen for quite  
some time before Casey ever entered the picture. So they were in each other's presence by  
default, and Casey had come to the decision one afternoon when he hadn't seen or spoken to  
Roy for about three days that he wanted to be friends with Sasha. He had come to suspect  
that Sasha, despite his flamboyant persona, was a fundamentally kind person. During that  
summer and the autumn semester that followed Casey learned how very true that was. It was  
Sasha who helped him stay the course when he came to the decision that he would go home that  
second Christmas instead of going to the cottage with Roy.

He had known for some time that he had to break the news about his sexuality to his  
parents and his peers; he would not be like Roy, hiding his true self in the guest cottage.  
Still, when he was actually home, back in the house that knew him as the son of Frank Connor,  
he realized it was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

To initiate the coming-out, he had attended a Christmas party with Zeke and Delilah  
 Zeke and Delilah together, it was scarcely conceivable! Zeke was not the kind of man  
who would ever be domesticated, and yet here he was playing house with Delilah. It seemed  
everyone had changed since high school. Casey enjoyed the reactions on people's faces to his  
own transformation, all variants of "wow, you aren't a geek anymore" sauced with sly bits  
of speculation about his mysterious "other" back in the big city. He wasn't interested in  
hiding the truth and did not correct anyone's assumptions about the gender of the person.

And then the next day, over Mom's pot roast, he had made a speech. "You can't really be  
surprised," he had ended with.

There followed then the longest silence Casey had ever heard in the middle of an actual  
conversation. It went on for a full five minutes. His dad would shake his head, look as if  
he were about to say something, put his head in his hands for a moment, then go back to  
head-shaking...while his mom stared out the window.

"Please," he had said. "Say something."

Frank Connor just looked at his son and Casey cringed at the rage he saw.

"You're with someone," mom stated.

"Yes," Casey replied. "You'd love him, really"

"I don't want to hear about it!" roared his father.

"Frank..."

"No, Allison, no! This is too much. It wasn't enough that he let himself get crapped on  
every day in high school....no, he has to go all the way to prove he isn't a man!"

Once in a while Casey's mother issued an order; this was one of those times: "Frank,  
stop."

It was astonishing how painful it could be to hear what you already knew  the words  
that his father must have been thinking every day for the past ten or more years. Casey had  
gone upstairs and re-packed his bag. He had walked out of the house without anyone saying a  
word. His father never moved from his place at the dining table.

"Look!" Zeke was pointing to an ad he had circled in the classified section of the paper.  
He was leaning against his car, wearing his shades and looking very Zeke. He held up the  
paper and waved it  and then straightened, as Casey got closer. "You okay?" he  
asked.

In high school people had been a little afraid of Zeke, reacting to his sardonic  
detachment and aura of danger. Casey had never really been afraid; his senses were highly  
developed when it came to physical threat and Zeke was no threat. Casey saw a coiled violence  
inside Zeke, and that was still present, but he knew that Zeke saved his aggression for those  
he judged as cruel, or unfair, or just plain stupid. He was quick to lose his temper and  
didn't suffer fools easily, but he was capable of great acts of kindness too. Casey had  
always felt safe with him in a way he did with no one else, not even Roy, he realized  
now.

To glance at Casey and see the remains of the tears he had scrubbed away hastily under  
the shower and to ask, so casually, so simply...that was pure Zeke. He had a wellspring of  
confidence within that sustained him even when thrown into completely anomalous situations.  
Like alien invasion and Casey going down on him.

Zeke was also a person not inclined to let someone like himself duck or dodge very easily.  
"Casey?"

"Yeah."

"Did something happen?"

 _Not really, no. Just told my father I subverted your will_. "You found an  
apartment?"

Zeke _looked_ at him but let it go. "Possibly...a sublet. It's on Front Street facing  
the river, a converted warehouse, and it's furnished which will save a helluva lot of time  
and effort..." Zeke glanced at his watch. "I made an appointment with my lawyer for 11:00  
and I left a message with these guys asking if I can come see the place this afternoon."

"Oh," said Casey. "I guess...I guess I'm in the way."

Zeke's frown was apparent even behind his shades. "No," he replied, a trifle impatiently.  
"I thought I'd go to the lawyer's office and bring you with me. You could wait in the car,  
it won't take long. Then we'll go have lunch with Delilah  yippee  and after we  
can take look at this place. How's that sound?"

"Fine," said Casey.

The frown deepened slightly, but Zeke said nothing, tossing his cigarette on the curb and  
proceeding by graceful saunter to the driver's side. Casey felt a faint disturbance, a  
prickling of something like desire, but it was brief and flickered out almost the moment it  
began.

"So," Zeke said as they turned onto an adjacent street.

Casey clenched his hands together and stared out the passenger window, not really hoping  
to stop the questions, just to live through them.

"You do want to be here with me...in this car..."

He turned back to Zeke, completely startled. Insecurity from Zeke...it only made  
everything a little more un-real. Zeke's face was mostly impassive, but there was just the  
hint of vulnerability visible around the dark shades.

"Because," said Zeke. "I get the feeling you're just going along with whatever I  
want."

Of course Zeke was getting frustrated, he had to be. Casey was not a real boy. Ring, ring,  
no one's home...nothing to love or like. Zeke would be leaving him soon, tired of talking  
to a puppet, tired of working the puppet's strings to get a response from him, tired of  
pretending he wasn't having a conversation with himself.

Zeke expelled a slow breath, very obviously keeping his anger in check. "For _fuck_ sake,  
Casey, would you say something? Am I talking to myself here?"

"I-I want to be-with you."

"But you don't have to be with me every second if you don't want to. Maybe you wanted to  
just hang out at home and relax until it was lunch time. I would have picked you up. Maybe  
you don't want to look at apartments with me. You can say so. I don't like feeling like a  
tyrant!"

They had stopped at a red light and Zeke glared out the windshield, not looking at Casey,  
breathing hard. He had to be feeling a little guilty about last night. Worrying that Casey  
hadn't really wanted him, that he had used him. Casey needed to show him that it was  
okay

He put his hand on Zeke's arm lightly, let his hand trail down it, heading to Zeke's lap,  
or least implying it. "I want...to be here..." he said softly.

The light turned green.

Zeke slapped his hand away. "Would you cut that out?" he growled. "Stop treating me like  
I'm..." He didn't finish that thought; nevertheless Casey heard the conclusion of the  
sentence perfectly. "I want _you_ , Casey, not this...this...manipulation crap."

He peeled away from the intersection with a screeching of tires.

Two minutes passed in which they didn't speak or look at each other. To curl up and die  
was the sum total of what Casey wanted. The bottom line.

The gentle thrum of the car engine ceased. Casey sensed Zeke was saying things but he  
couldn't hear...wouldn't hear. He could discern the words faintly. "...need to...sorry,  
Casey...sorry....wait here?"

He worked a mouth that had lost all sensation. "Yes."

"I'll..." The rest of it was lost, submerged in the rising tide of nothing.

The door slammed. He unfastened his seatbelt and pulled his feet up, curling on the seat  
as tightly as he could. The waters closed over his head.

The day had been coming along so well and now everything was good and fucked.

Zeke would cherish the portrait of himself leaning against his car only twenty minutes  
ago, having a smoke and suspecting that all was well with the world. That feeling, that  
well-being had come at the precise moment that Casey glided down the sidewalk towards him,  
looking completely edible. He had realized that he loved waking up with Casey. And he loved  
sleeping with him. Couldn't get enough of holding him, even. Then he noticed that Casey  
seemed to have been crying again and things just went downhill from there.

He kept trying to give Casey his autonomy, but Casey just wouldn't take it. That pissed  
Zeke off. He knew it was unrealistic to expect things to change so quickly, but still...human  
nature, again. The only time that Casey was assertive was when it was sexual, and it was  
going to wear Zeke down before long even if he knew that it would be A Bad Thing for him  
to surrender  bad for Casey, bad for everyone concerned. After last night Zeke was  
confident that he could overcome his issues about Casey's parts, but more difficult to  
overcome would be his reluctance to have anyone know what he was up to with Casey. He was  
utterly disgusted by himself and that only fuelled his anger; moments of otherwise  
understandable impatience were thereby completely inequitable. He would soon be deprived  
of his right to feel angry altogether. Worst of all, Casey seemed determined to make him  
into Roy. He would not, he must not be that person. So he was completely buggered and there  
was no one on hand to justly absorb the blame.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Hmm?"

His lawyer was speaking to him. He forced himself to pay attention; in a few minutes it  
would be over and he could get back to Casey.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Oh...absolutely. Yes."

"Because you are giving away a heck of a lot of equity here."

"I don't care." In fact, the more he thought about, the more he needed to get back to the  
car. "If you could draw this up for me and just give me a call, I'll come in and sign it  
whenever..."

He was out the door, urged on by a growing sense of unease. He didn't like the way Casey  
had looked when he left him.

He expected to find Casey in tears like before. This was far worse. Casey was hugging his  
knees, half slumped against the door with his head up against the frame. His gaze was still  
and set, surveying some misty horizon internal to himself.

"Case?"

He got himself into the driver's seat and grasped Casey's arm. "Casey." He shook him  
slightly. To his horror, Casey's head lolled, his trance not even the tiniest bit shaken.  
"Casey...aw, Christ, what is this now?" He shook again, harder. _Am I going to have to  
take you to the emergency room? I know you don't want that. I know I sure don't want  
that._ He yelled at the top of his lungs: "CAY-SEE!" In the confined space of the car it  
was deafening. A woman who was walking past on her way into the building stopped, stared,  
and hurried on her way. There were probably others about he didn't have occasion to  
notice.

What if he were to bellow: "Casey...the aliens are coming!" The thought made him giggle  
a little. Okay, he was hysterical and that wasn't funny. But he imagined Casey snapping back  
to consciousness and diving out of the car and he couldn't stop a snort or two...no. Dammit,  
this wasn't funny. He decided to drive to the restaurant where Delilah would be waiting and  
assume that by then Casey would be available for lunch. There was no cause for panic. Casey  
was breathing, he wasn't injured. Zeke could deal, he _would_ deal. He put the car into  
gear.

As he drove he wracked his brain for everything he might have heard about trances...the  
term "disassociation" floated up from his database...but apart from those words he was  
drawing a big blank. He had an idea that it had something to do with being in distress. An  
avoidance tactic  no major brainpower needed to reach that conclusion. In high school  
Casey had often seemed to live in another world  the kid had always been more than a  
little jumpy, and with reason, but there had never been evidence of anything like this. It  
must have achieved full flower during the past two years; Zeke's heart ached as he imagined  
Casey alone, so overwhelmed by his emotions that he resorted to this in order to escape from  
them.

He was at the restaurant now, and Casey was still giving him the Big Scary Nothing.

"Fuck me," he muttered. He pulled out his cell phone and called Delilah.

"Delilah Profitt."

"Del, Casey and I are running a little late."

"Why?" she demanded.

"What do you mean, 'why'? We're late, we'll try to get there as soon as we can."

"You're fucking, aren't you?"

"No, dammit!" he roared, wishing he could reach through the phone and knock out five or  
twelve or those perfect white teeth. The woman had no sense of common sense or boundaries  
sometimes.

"Look," Delilah said curtly. "I don't have a lot of time. Why don't we just  
reschedule?"

"Fine, whatever. I'll call you later."

His next stop was the house that he was close to signing over to Delilah. He still had  
the key, and could deduce with confidence that Delilah wasn't home. For the first time ever  
he was thankful for the attached garage that Delilah had insisted upon  although he  
wouldn't have scrupled to drag Casey inside in plain view of any of the public who happened  
to be walking by if that had been required.

"So, Casey..."

He went around and tugged and pulled for a bit to see if Casey would walk on his own. He  
wouldn't, so Zeke got him over his shoulder in a fireman's lift of sorts and brought him  
into the house. The security alarm went off as he entered from the garage, and he cursed,  
wheeling around with Casey on his shoulder and punching in the numbers alongside curses.  
Then it was straight up the stairs and into the bathroom. He perched Casey on the toilet  
seat. Casey sat up on his own steam, but slumped, staring vacantly.

"All right, Casey. This is your last chance to come back on your own. I'm going to count  
to..."

Ten.

Nothing. Zeke turned on the water, and gave Casey his second shower of the day, this time  
completely clothed.

Casey came back to consciousness with a scream. He jerked back against the shower tiles,  
trying to escape the icy water, and gazed pitifully at Zeke, hugging himself. "Wha"

"Do you want to get out?"

"Z-Zeke...how.. I..."

"On second thought, let's get you warm first."

Zeke made some adjustments. When he straightened up, Casey was watching him with the  
saddest eyes he had ever seen  glimmering and feverish and sunk in a pinched,  
desperately white face.

Casey pleaded, "H-help m-m-me." He was shuddering with cold.

There was no question, no inner debate. Zeke touched a finger to one cold cheek, feeling  
himself completely lost. "I'll help you," he vowed.

He made himself busy, giving Casey a robe to wear  Delilah's actually  handing  
him a towel, and then leaving Casey in private to get dry. He took Casey's wet clothes to  
the laundry room and popped them in the dryer. Then to the kitchen where he put a kettle on  
to boil, thinking Casey would probably want a hot beverage. Finding himself suddenly with  
nothing to do, he was taken by surprise by a wave of the shakes. He clasped the counter and  
concentrated on breathing.

He heard a slight creeping noise behind him. He turned to find Casey standing there  
clutching the robe about himself, shivering slightly and doing a very convincing portrayal  
of an extra from a "ten cents a day to save a child" commercial.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Casey nodded. "Who  who lives here?"

Zeke poured boiling water into a healthy sized mug. He had selected chamomile; the last  
thing Casey needed was more stimulation. "I do  or did. It's mine and Delilah's...for  
a couple more days."

The Casey-eyes darted, a bit alarmed. "Is she...?"

"She's not here. And yes, before you ask, we missed our lunch. She had a few words to say  
about it."

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Zeke retorted, a bit sharp. He handed Casey the mug. "Explain."

Casey raised the mug, cupping it with both hands to warm them. He sank into the nearest  
kitchen chair like his legs wouldn't hold him. "I'm...fucked up."

"Tell me about it," Zeke replied quietly.

"I... " Casey peered up at him, his mouth moving soundlessly.

"I know it's hard." Zeke came closer. He pulled up a chair close to his friend so he could  
be at eye level. "You have no idea how much what just happened scared me."

Startled, Casey looked up briefly. His hand moved as though he would have reached for  
Zeke's, but then was curled tightly in his lap, the movement so tiny and tentative that it  
almost might not have happened.

"Did you think I don't get scared?"

"Um..."

"Well, I do." Zeke cleared his throat. "I'd be ecstatic if that never happened again, but  
I know better than that. I'm going to ask, though. Please don't do that again. I swear I'll  
try not to be such a prick, if that helps."

"Y-you're not"

"Don't argue."

"Zeke?"

"Yeah..."

"I'm sorry it's  it's all such a mess...you must be...I'm so sorry"

Zeke stopped his mouth.

Casey made a little noise of surprise when their lips touched but he caught up quickly,  
returning the kiss with a sweet abandon that was charming and strangely innocent. They were  
both standing now, their chairs left behind. The taste of Casey was...Casey. Intoxicating,  
addicting, enthralling...it was all that. And then Casey made another sound, a sort of  
desperate whine in the back of his throat, and pressed even closer, groping for  
something.

"Whoa, whoa," Zeke pulled back, trying as he did so to capture at least one of Casey's  
hands, to reassure even as he withdrew. "Casey, I'm...thinking about a long, old-fashioned  
courtship, you know?"

Casey pulled Zeke's hand to his lips, smiling a kiss into it. "You're not  
old-fashioned."

"Today  this week  I am. I want to take things slowly." Zeke smiled his most  
winning smile. "You're way ahead of me when it comes to this. I need you to be gentle,  
okay?"

But Casey had switched into a persona that Zeke was beginning to know all too well. This  
altered creature was determined, aggressive...frantic. Gaze completely concentrated on Zeke,  
blue eyes smoky with desire or a very convincing facsimile of it, its sexual intuition was  
perfect. It sibilated, "Wouldn't it be satisfying to fuck in this house, though?" and hugged  
Zeke's hand to its chest, rubbing its cheek against the back of it as though any part of  
Zeke's skin could induce self-immolation. "Just think...you and me and the kitchen tiles,  
Delilah coming in to pour herself a glass of juice every morning and never knowing..."

"Wicked," Zeke muttered.

"Or we could do it on the bed where you slept. Where she'll sleep after you leave."

Zeke was forced to take several steps back. This thing was dangerous. It seemed to have  
only one moral destination. "No, Casey, just  no."

There was a flicker of bewildered hurt. "You want me."

In its mind, wanting led inexorably to having. The succubus moved towards him and he  
reared back, laughing at himself inwardly. Casey was pursuing _him_ and he was fleeing like  
a frightened virgin when it was the last thing he wanted to do. "Yeah, I want you." He  
barked a laugh at the understatement. "But it isn't the right time."

"Fuck the right time."

"Casey...give me a break here! I'm trying not to hurt you, can you understand that?"

The animus inside Casey was relentless. It was almost visible to Zeke's eyes, crouching  
and snarling under his skin. "I hurt now," it said. "And I want you to stop it."

Zeke folded his arms. "All right. I've tried being subtle. I've tried being kind. Now I  
have to be mean. It's not going to happen tonight, so give it up. We can kiss, we can cuddle,  
but that's all we're going to do. I'll tell you when I'm ready to take it to the next  
level."

He was certain that the Linda Blair in Casey was provoked and he was about to bear witness  
to a fountain of vitriol. He saw a hint of it struggling to rise to the surface and braced  
himself, actually hoping it would happen. But it passed, and Casey sank back into his chair,  
the manic sexual energy leaving him, leaving...nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Zeke raked both hands through his hair, swallowing a howl of frustration. He could have  
said, _don't be sorry_ but it seemed like he had said it before and he was tired of saying  
it. He was just plain tired, and there was still plenty of the day left. "Your clothes must  
be dry now. I'll go check."

The basement offered a few minutes of reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere in the  
kitchen. He pulled out Casey's jeans and t-shirt  mostly dry now  and trudged  
up the stairs. He half expected to find Casey gone, either physically or emotionally, but  
he was still there, just as Zeke had left him.

"Here..." Zeke offered the clothes.

Casey looked at the items like he had never seen such things before. He reached slowly  
to take them and went into the bathroom. It seemed like he was in there for a long time,  
and Zeke began to fret, thinking about sharp objects and bottles of pills, doing a mental  
inventory of the medicine cabinet  but then Casey was out. He stood at the door into  
the kitchen and looked at Zeke with drooping eyelids.

Without any further discussion Zeke took him back to his hotel room for a nap. He would  
have joined him but was besieged by phone calls that afternoon. He settled for lying there  
propped up on pillows, with Casey balled up beside him. After the rude awakening that morning  
Zeke had put his phone on the "vibrate" setting so Casey wouldn't be disturbed.

First there was a call back about the apartment. Upon hearing Zeke's name they were more  
than pleased to have him come and look at the place, but asked if he could come the next  
day. He made an appointment for mid-morning.

The second call was from his mother. He had known this conversation was coming, but put  
it out of his mind until the moment came. Preparation was pointless where his mother was  
concerned, as he had learned all too well through the years. It had been a relief when she  
decided that he was able to look after himself and left him, at sixteen, with the run of the  
family residence and a monthly allowance.

"Ezekiel  what is this I hear about you breaking it off with Delilah?"

"Hello to you too, mother."

"Oh, I think you mean 'bonjour'."

"You're in France?"

"South of, yes."

"And who's your boy-toy this month?"

"I don't keep 'toys', Ezekiel, only very serious, mature gigolos. And now that you've  
cleverly distracted me, tell me what's going on?"

"Nothing's going on. I just called it quits is all. And how did you find out, anyway?"

"Celia called me, cheri...did you think we don't talk? Not that we have any more reason  
to now. I have to tell you, Celia was a mite bit upset. I wouldn't be surprised if she calls  
you too."

"That would be tough considering she doesn't have my number and Delilah knows I would  
skin her alive if she gave it to that woman."

"That's a little strong, don't you think?"

"No, I don't think."

"Are you going to tell me what this is really about?"

"I don't want to marry Delilah, mother, it's that simple."

"Celia seems to think there's someone else in the picture."

"How the? Nevermind, I can guess."

"Here's the funny part, though. She seems to think it's your friend, Casey. Isn't that a  
scream? I told her, my boy's as hetero as they come but she was going on about it. I think  
she'd had a few to tell the truth..."

Zeke thought about how he'd really like to choke the life out of Delilah. His fingers  
were actually tingling as he imagined it.

"Zeke?"

"Mother, I'd really prefer it if you didn't discuss me with Celia Profitt."

"I didn't _discuss_ "

"Delilah can believe whatever she wants if that makes her feel better. The fact is I just  
don't want to get married."

"Well, that's what I assumed. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Zeke, but if I had  
to go back and do it over I would never have gotten married either."

"I have to go, mother."

"Ah...well, then."

"Goodbye, mother."

"Zeke... I'll be in town in late July."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye"

He called Delilah, subjecting the keypad to wanton abuse.

"You've been busy, haven't you?"

Delilah retorted immediately "What? What do you mean?" but he thought he heard a note of  
discomfort there. He was seized by a rare moment of pity for her, a thing that only happened  
when he pictured her facing down her own mother. He and Delilah had some common ground there,  
to be sure. The differences between Celia Profitt and Rachel Tyler, though, were all about  
intelligence and subtlety. Where Rachel scared him, Celia merely disgusted him.

Zeke decided to abandon the repartee this time before it even started. "I went to the  
lawyer today. I'll have the papers for you soon."

"That's good, Zeke. Look, maybe we could try to have dinner tonight."

"What is it that we need to discuss so urgently?"

"There are just a lot of things"

"So talk. What tasks do you have for me?"

"It's easier in person. I have a list."

Zeke sighed. "All right. Dinner?"

"If it's not too painful for you."

"Just tell me when and where?"

"Same place. Six o'clock." Delilah paused. "You can bring Casey with you."

He refused to bite. "Maybe."

"He's my friend too. You can't keep him all to yourself."

"Delilah...okay, I'll ask him."

At five o'clock Casey was still asleep. Zeke was pondering options. He considered getting  
the phone book and cracking open the yellow pages at "psychotherapists". Or perhaps he should  
first encourage a little trip to the regular doctor in search of a prescription? That was a  
bit tricky though; Zeke had a genuine worry that the doctor would take one look at Casey and  
admit him to the hospital, and with Casey's history of seeing aliens it could be the start  
of a very long visit. Perhaps it would be better to start with some therapy, get someone on  
his side before they tackled the issue of medication.

Maybe he should limit his interference to a gentle suggestion. Zeke knew how much he  
personally hated the thought of being in therapy. He would certainly resent it if someone  
presented him with a name and a phone number, and he would fight it every step of the way no  
matter how beneficial it might be.

But then, Zeke was not Casey. As long as Casey presenting symptoms of extreme passivity,  
Zeke might as well take advantage of it to get him some help. Sometimes the best thing you  
could do for a friend was to give them a good, solid push. In truth, Zeke was not confident  
that Casey was capable of thinking the matter through rationally, not in the state he was  
in. In fact he was pretty sure that rational thought was right out the window.

"Hey." Zeke knuckled Casey's cheek. "You gonna wake up? Casey..."

Slowly, Casey dragged his eyes open like there was a ten-pound weight on each lid.

"Hi," Zeke greeted him.

"Mmm."

"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Zeke said as brightly as he could. "We have a dinner  
date with Delilah...that is, if you want to come. I have to tell you, she's got the  
uber-bitch factor activated, but she did ask specifically if you would be there."

Casey blinked.

"Still sleepy?"

A nod.

Zeke twisted and squirmed so that their faces were quite close, almost nose to nose. "So  
do you want to come with me to dinner? And before you get stressed about it, I'll buy."

"Okay."

Zeke launched a more unpleasant topic. "You know...while you were asleep I was  
thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"I want to ask you to get some help, Casey. Counseling, therapy, whatever you want to  
call it. I'll help you find someone. Hell, I'll pay for it if that's what it takes. You have  
to start talking about that stuff in your head with somebody."

"Don't want to."

"Yeah, I noticed. I wouldn't want to either, but it is necessary. I'll have to ask you  
to forgive me for pushing in advance, because I'm not going to let this go." He kissed the  
tip of Casey's nose. "Do we have an understanding?"

Another nod.

"Good." Zeke swung off of the bed. "Don't forget to give your folks a call so they don't  
worry."

One thing he knew: Zeke could be extremely persuasive. In the space of one minute he had  
agreed to three things he didn't want to do. What he really wanted was to sleep more, or  
even better, to become stagnant in front of a screen playing one of his favorites. He had  
some movies that he had watched so often that the cadence of dialogue and facial expressions  
was as comforting as a lullaby. Ed Wood. Jaws. Aliens, that was a good one...Ripley's aliens  
would have made goo out of his. Nothing was half as therapeutic as a good creature  
feature.

"Mom."

"Oh, Casey! Are you all right?"

"Yeah...I'm going out for dinner...might not be home later."

"All right, Casey. Thank you for telling me."

After an awkward pause, he said, "Okay...bye..."

"Casey?"

"Yeah?"

"This is still your home. I want you to know that."

Funny sounding words...this is still your home I want you to know that...the picture went  
out of focus...this is still your home...

Casey jerked, finding Zeke right in front of him. He was still holding the handset, which  
was emitting a strident beep. Busy signal. "What?"

"You were gone again," Zeke said, scowling blackly.

"Oh. How...how long...?"

"Long enough for your mother to hang up."

Casey looked at the handset.

Zeke suggested gently, "Why don't you call her back? Unless you really don't want to talk  
to her."

The last thing he remembered about the conversation was her saying something about home  
and he started to think about...something. Not going there, not going there...dial the  
number. That's it...five...five...five...

Mom burst into tears at the sound of his voice. "Oh, Casey! I thought you'd..."

"I dropped the phone...."

"Do you hate me?"

"No," he said. "I love you."

Aye. Lohv. Ewe. Gobbledy-gook. He didn't expect her to be taken in by this mouthing of  
useless syllables  but she was.

"Casey...I almost forgot. There's a message for you. Some guy named 'sara'? Least I think  
that's what he said."

"Sasha."

"Yes, that's it. What kind of name is that? Anyway, he called around an hour ago. Said  
it's very urgent that he speak with you. Do you want his number?"

"I'll call later," Casey said quickly. "Thanks, mom."

Putting down the phone, he realized that Zeke was sitting across from him on the other  
double bed, watching him with an expression he remembered well from days of high school.  
Kind of coolly fascinated, emotions pushed back to let the brain do its magic. That was what  
Casey had first admired about Zeke  apart from his broad shoulders and lanky design.  
Zeke didn't fall apart in a crisis. He got even cooler and more sardonic. Analyzing. When  
he had caught up that knife torn off the paper cutter and faced the alien-ified Mr. Furlong,  
he put his hand on it like he was calculating its heft and the best kind of grip for maximum  
deadliness. That was Zeke: masterful at taking the left side of his brain to a place that  
was sheer artistry. He was like that as a football player too; when he looked at the field  
he seemed to be performing the necessary mental operations to excise all obstacles from his  
path, and generally got that result. Casey had tried to be at every one of his games, his  
not-so-secret cheerleader. Casey braced himself for a difficult interview.

"When you go vacant like that?" Zeke started. "Is it something you decide? Or does it  
just happen to you?"

He shook his head. He knew in a vague, out-side-himself way why it happened but he had no  
control over it that he knew of. There would be a terrifying swell of Unmentionable Things  
and then blessed nothing, quiet and empty.

"What was going on in your head?" Zeke pressed.

He cleared his throat. "Wh when?"

"Before. And during."

No one had really asked before. Sasha had seemed not to need to ask. He would just hold  
Casey as the feelings trickled back into him.

Casey shivered. "I don't know," he said.

Zeke snapped, "Don't say that, I hate that. You're the smartest person I know...use your  
brain."

What Zeke didn't know yet was that there were some things that couldn't be thought out  
of. So far in his life Zeke had been pretty successful with thinking, whereas thinking had  
been a disaster for Casey.

"Was remembering something." Casey didn't offer a recap. "Then...you were looking at  
me."

"What things?"

Casey shook his head.

"You don't know?"

Somewhere in him, an alarm went off and red lights flashed. Casey pinched a good solid  
pinch of the flesh of his left forearm. It hurt  but he could breathe.

Zeke let out a sigh. "This shrink's going to have his or her work cut out for them." But,  
quite in contrast to his words, he came over and hugged Casey for a while. Of course he  
picked up the questioning as they were driving to the restaurant  a short, two blocks  
but Zeke and his car didn't like to be apart. "Did it start after the aliens, Casey? The  
blank spots?"

"Not...not right after."

"You were nervous, though. I remember that." Zeke glanced over at him. "Do you still worry  
about the aliens coming back?"

Casey's heart had begun to pound. He clenched the door handle and wished they could have  
just stayed in the hotel room with the door locked.

"Casey? Come on, don't fade out on me here."

"I`m not," he replied faintly. But why wouldn't Zeke stop?

"So?" Zeke insisted.

"Just don't want to talk about it." If he talked, if he gave that much substance to his  
thoughts then they might come true and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he worried  
that everyone was secretly an alien and he sometimes got panicky around people especially if  
they were within ten feet of him and he had almost never left Roy's apartment in Cincinnati  
 and what if he voiced this and Zeke didn't say "Oh, Casey, that's ridiculous of course  
they're not here" but "I worry about that too, it could be true, we could be surrounded right  
now" so he couldn't keep breathing and seeing through anything other than a white hot panic  
and following Zeke around in the hope that he would eventually want him enough.

"You need to talk about it, though."

"No  don't want to!" His voice had gone shrill. "I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay, okay!" Zeke made a frustrated gesture with his hands, briefly lifting them off the  
steering wheel and leaving the car to drive itself. "Okay," he soothed. "We won't talk about  
it." _Not this time_ was unspoken.

A minute later they were at Anime and Casey started to get up and out but Zeke caught his  
hand and held it.

"I wish..." Zeke began, straining for words.

Zeke had never found it easy to express emotions, Casey knew that. He held onto Zeke's  
hand and waited.

"I want to make you feel safe," finished Zeke.

Casey felt tears burn and pushed...pushed...pushed back until his eyes were bone dry. "I  
know," he said eventually.

Delilah was waiting exactly as she used to wait for Casey when they worked together on  
the school paper and for the month or so that they had dated. Impatiently striding back and  
forth in the restaurant lobby, wearing a path in the carpet, looking furious and  
beautiful.

"You're late," she snapped at them.

Zeke said nothing, so Casey filled in with, "Sorry. I...was sleeping so it's my  
fault."

Her quick eyes took him in with several quick flicks. "Must have been a short nap." Her  
way of expressing concern at his apparent exhaustion.

"Just four hours," Zeke supplied, trading a look with Delilah that Casey pretended not  
to notice.

The hostess seated them immediately at Delilah's request. This was completely her sort  
of venue, just as the Jam was Zeke's, except everything here was hip and new and sleek,  
including most of the staff. Casey had a menu in his hand but didn't look at it; he would  
have just as soon eaten then menu itself as anything that was printed on it.

"Would you like a drink?" inquired the hostess.

"Double vodka," Zeke said immediately.

"Black Russian," chimed in Delilah. When the hostess looked askance at her, Delilah  
chirped, "Nothing for Casey...he's too young." She giggled. Casey saw Zeke's annoyance-meter  
edge up a few notches.

Zeke got his double vodka; Delilah and Casey got sodas. The drinks arrived shortly and  
within a minute Zeke had scoured every last drop from nearly-intact ice cubes.

"So you wanted to divvy up the tasks," Zeke began, his eye already seeking a waiter for  
a refill.

"Can't Casey and I take a few minutes to catch up?" Delilah asked sweetly. "We didn't get  
to talk much at Christmas." She paused, and when Casey didn't respond she ventured, "So,  
you must have a pretty exciting life in Cincinnati. We didn't see you for over a year and  
the visit at Christmas was brief enough."

Casey managed to find something neutral to say. "It's not much different than living in  
Herrington."

"Oh, come on! Student in the big city...these are the best years of your life, aren't  
they?"

A horrifying thought. "I don't really get out much. Still a geek, I guess."

"You're not a geek," Zeke protested instantly.

"Yeah, look at you!" Delilah touched his hair like she wanted to be his valet. "Pretty  
stylin' there, Case."

Casey squirmed in his chair. He caught a glimpse of Zeke's eyes on him, a kind of look  
he knew very well. He was accustomed to Zeke looking at him now. Zeke quickly broke the  
stare to wave at the nearest waiter, but not so quickly that Delilah didn't see.

"So...where's this mysterious boyfriend of yours?"

"Delilah..." Zeke growled.

"What? It's not like it's a secret, right?"

"Maybe Casey would rather not talk about it."

"Oh. Bad break up, huh?"

"Yeah," Casey said, and hugged his menu to his chest.

"That's rough. I know how you feel."

"I'm sorry about the..." Casey offered.

"Why should you be sorry? It's not like it's your fault, is it?"

"Delilah" Zeke began.

Ignoring him, Delilah plunged ahead. "Zeke does what he likes, after all. It isn't  
relevant what anyone else thinks."

Zeke had leaned over in her direction and lowered his voice to a near-growl. "let's  
not do this. Not now, not here."

"Do what? I'm just talking to Casey here. I'm entitled to commiserate a little."

Zeke finally caught a waiter who was passing by. "Excuse me...I need a refill on my  
drink."

"It helps to be with friends, though," Delilah continued. "Zeke's lucky that way. Seems  
like the two of you have been joined at the hip since the other night."

Casey looked helplessly at Zeke, hoping for rescue.

"All right, that's enough," Zeke snapped. "Whatever you're trying to insinuate, why don't  
you just come out and say it so we can get this meal over with. You have a question? Ask it.  
Don't go hinting to your mother and whoever else might be gullible enough to listen."

"Fine," Delilah shot back. "Did you dump me for someone else?"

"No. I explained my reasons to you."

"And you're hanging around with Casey because..."

"Do I need a reason to hang around with a friend?"

"You can't tell me there's nothing going on."

"I can and I do." Zeke downed half of his second drink. "Fuck. I didn't  _we_  
didn't come here for this. You think just because someone's gay they're going to throw  
themselves at the nearest available man?"

Casey broke in gaily, ignoring the sickening sensation of his heart falling into his  
stomach cavity. "The nearest available man happens to be you, Zeke." He knew he put on a  
very convincing Flaming Queen...a credit to Sasha's tutelage. "You _are_ quite delicious  
so you'll have to cut Del some slack."

After a stunned, silent pause, Delilah burst out laughing.

"Oh, Casey!" She slapped his arm lightly. "I never thought I'd see the day...but you're  
right."

Zeke smiled, and the worst of the tension dissipated.

"I'm sorry," Delilah said contritely. "This isn't the time or the place."

"You think?" Zeke grumbled.

"Ha ha. Now, I promise I'm done. Let's try and relax." She focused on her menu.

Casey tried to do the same. He stared at the first item on the menu. Appetizers.  
Portobello. Mushroom. Cutlet. He counted to five.

"You had better call Stan," Delilah was saying. "He and Stokely might still be able to  
get a full refund on their tickets."

Beef. Arugula. Fig. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Deep. Fried. Sage. One...

"Oh, right," Zeke replied easily. "I hadn't thought of that."

Casey stood up. "Excuse me."

He went directly into the bathroom where he found the stall furthest away from the  
entrance and knelt at the feet of the porcelain god. There was nothing much in his stomach,  
though. Someone knocked at the door of his stall and he clenched up. "Are you all right,  
sir?"

"Yes," he called. _Go away, go away, please!_

Zeke would not come to check on him, he knew that much.

After his disastrous coming-out speech at Christmas he had only one place to go. Only  
forty-something dollars in his pocket and he needed every last one to get to Roy. The bus,  
the cab, nothing could move fast enough. The gateman recognized him, the only person in the  
Roy's family life who did. He ran the last half-mile to the cottage, praying that Roy would  
be there. He saw a light on inside and the tears started to flow even before he got to the  
door, rising up out of him in great clots of longing and sorrow.

"Roy!" He pounded on the door, tried to open it  nothing. The door was locked. He  
peered in the window and saw that one of the small bedside lamps was on but the place  
appeared to be empty. The bed was made neatly and there was no sign of anyone staying  
there.

Casey crumpled onto the porch, huddling under the window he had been peering in. He  
realized dimly that he was still crying and scrubbed at his face, trying to think. Fragments  
of coherent thoughts skittered over the surface of his brain, barely stirring a ripple. His  
limbs were growing heavy and lifeless in the cold. Even in his quasi-hysterical state he  
realized that he had two choices  either to go up to the main house or to break a  
window in the cottage and climb in.

He needed Roy and Roy was not in the cottage.

He stumbled the two miles to the Windle family home. Lately come from his own family  
estate, the contrast was formidable. This was a mansion. The lawn was the size of the  
community park he had played in as a child. The broad, circular drive was an advertisement  
for Mercedes, Jaguar, and Lexus, and of course there were limousines and their drivers. A  
few of the drivers were standing out in front of the house having a smoke or a chat, and  
gazed at him curiously as he walked up. It did occur to him that maybe this was not a good  
idea  but he was so cold now that the need to get inside someplace warm overrode  
everything else.

He rang. A uniformed man opened the door  butler, doorman? Casey didn't know the  
terminology. The man looked him up and down, disdainful of his second hand student's  
garb.

"Um...can I come in, please?" Casey begged.

"That depends," the doorman replied. "Are you invited?"

"I'm...I'm a f-friend of R-Roy's." Casey's teeth were chattering violently. "And I'm  
f-f-freezing. Please."

The man let him into the foyer but did not let him remove his coat or boots. "Wait  
here."

Casey had every intention of obeying, just thankful to be in the warmth  until he  
heard the sound of Roy. He was making a speech; Casey knew the tone, it was Roy's teaching  
voice.

He stole into the enormous front hall, which was dominated by an elaborately decorated  
twenty-five foot Christmas tree. There were people about in the hall, mostly staff bustling  
back and forth with trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks or consulting in lowered voices.  
Several of them stopped what they were doing to stare at him. It was kind of hilarious that  
he was so visibly not a guest  was his middle-class upbringing stamped on his face? Or  
perhaps he had a third arm or a tree growing out of his head?

Roy's voice was issuing from the room to Casey's left. There were perhaps fifty people  
in this room, which appeared to be a small ballroom. The ceiling was two stories high; down  
one side of the room there were tall windows elegantly draped in velvet. The walls were  
paneled in gleaming wood; the same wood covered the floor. Roy stood on the dais at the  
front of the crowd and he was holding hands with a blond woman. She appeared to be roughly  
Roy's age, perhaps a few years younger, with a high-toned, nordic beauty. Two older couples  
flanked them; they had to be the parents.

"...if you can find it in your heart to be the wife of a starving artist," Roy was saying,  
excreting charm from every pore, "it would be the greatest gift I've ever been given." Only  
last week he had used that particular quotient of charm on Casey, to distract him from  
studying for one of his final exams.

The crowd made "awww" noises, some of them calling out with teasing comments and jokes.  
"And what did you say, Janice?!"

The blond woman came back with, "I said 'get a job and I'll think about it!'" She smiled  
fondly at Roy as the assembly laughed, clearly enchanted by the entire presentation. She  
leaned over to kiss Roy. There was applause. Janice was mobbed by females who wanted to see  
something on her finger.

Roy was grinning  until his eyes happened to find Casey at the back of the room and  
the grin melted off his face, distilled into a look of pure horror.

Casey wheeled about and ran for the front door. He was intercepted halfway there by the  
doorman and two beefy fellows in dark suits. Each of them took one of Casey's arms. Casey  
felt crazed laughter welling up; he wanted to tell them that if they would only let him go  
he could see himself to the door with all due speed.

"What is this?"

The voice was ice-cold. Casey saw a man approach who had to be Roy's father. He was  
seventy-years old at least, white-haired, stern and spider-thin. He looked at Casey as though  
he were vermin and his employees were exterminators.

"He rang, Mr. Windle," the doorman answered, obviously scared for his job. "He said he  
knew Donald, he called him 'Roy'. He was really cold so I just let him come in the  
foyer..."

"Did Donald invite you here?" demanded Mr. Windle, his eyes raking over Casey. The eyes  
were Roy's, deep brown but filled with a limitless contempt.

Casey shook his head. He peered desperately into that other room, looking for Roy to  
emerge at any moment. He couldn't imagine the best outcome of all this except that he fully  
expected that Roy would come out and rescue him.

"Why are you here, then?"

He knew he was saying things he shouldn't, he knew he was causing trouble for Roy, and  
yet he was helpless to do otherwise. He answered in a low voice, "I needed to see Roy."

"Roy is busy right now. Are you one of his students?"

The cold eyes bored into him.

"Yes, I am, but"

"It isn't appropriate for you to be here."

"I didn't mean to, I got cold and  can I talk to Roy, please?"

"He doesn't have time for you."

"But"

"Search him to make sure he hasn't stolen anything," ordered Roy's father. "Then get  
Jerry to drive him back to town."

The two burlies dragged him into the foyer where they could go through his pockets  
without any of the guests having to witness it. Casey's brain constricted to one thought:  
Roy hadn't appeared, hadn't been concerned or even curious.

It would have been nice to stay here in this privacy and silence with his face pressed  
to the nice, cool porcelain but he supposed that eventually they would come looking for  
him. For a while Casey rested his head against the wall, thinking fondly of the stall at  
Herrington High that had been his daily refuge. Then he got up, washed his hands and face  
and went to rejoin his friends.

Zeke glanced at him once, anxiously, but Delilah noticed nothing. She was cordial and  
easy-going for the remainder of the meal, and Zeke got pleasantly smashed. Casey could see  
how they must have been together when it was good, two buddies trading barbs and enjoying  
each other's competitive streak. It appeared that some sort of understanding had been  
achieved, and Casey certainly couldn't begrudge Zeke that. At the conclusion of the night  
Delilah hugged Casey and asked him seriously if he was okay and he lied very convincingly  
as he knew he could, and then she invited him to come over next week for coffee and "girl  
talk". She kissed him on the cheek.

Zeke probably shouldn't have been driving but Casey didn't mention it, mildly pleased by  
the thought of them getting into a deadly crash somewhere between the restaurant and his  
home. Casey should die and Zeke go on to suffer terrible guilt that would eventually resolve  
into a kind of wistful regret that struck every year on the anniversary of Casey's death when  
Zeke recalled how he'd had true love in his grasp and lost it.

"Casey!"

"Yeah."

"Just  checking in," Zeke said helplessly. "So...where to?"

"Home."

"Home...your home?"

"Yes, please."

"Oh. I was wondering...I thought maybe you'd stay with me again...like last night."

"I should go home." Indeed, he was thinking longingly of retreating to his own bed.

Zeke stopped the car half a block back from the curb space in front of Casey's house  
 close enough to see that there were lights on but not so that anyone who happened to  
glance out the window could see them. He parked, leaving the engine running, and half-turned  
to look at Casey. Casey didn't want to look at him but he couldn't find it in himself to  
reject anything that Zeke offered him.

Zeke's big hand came to rest on his shoulder, slipping round to the back of his  
neck...kneading, soothing the tight muscles there.

"You're brave," Zeke whispered, his basso continuo thrumming through Casey. "Did you know  
that?"

Casey shook his head. "I'm not..."

"Don't argue." Zeke's fingers were playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I  
can't even admit in public to wanting you and you cover for me by acting out a silly  
stereotype."

He had been so very ridiculous? Casey hadn't thought so until now. But of course the image  
that he had portrayed was ridiculous to Zeke. It was everything that Zeke feared.

"I think you're angry with me," Zeke murmured. "You have every right to be."

"I'm not angry." And he wasn't. All he felt was tired.

"I'm sure you know that anger turned inside is depression, Casey." Zeke smiled to soften  
the words. "And you're really, really depressed." His hand settled on Casey's collarbone,  
thumb and forefinger curled about his neck. "Right now you should be punching me in the face  
and jumping from this car...but instead you're going to let me kiss you." He leaned in to  
Casey with the gentlest touch, just a swab of the lips. His vodka-stained breath drifted  
softly across Casey's mouth.

"It's probably just as well that you stay at home tonight," Zeke breathed. "We don't need  
any more temptation." Zeke kissed him again, barely making contact for a second time. Then  
he said, "Casey...thank you."

"For what?"

"For protecting me from Delilah." As he spoke Zeke was sniffing along his jaw, tasting  
occasionally. "Mmm...you smell so good." Fingers brushed the other side of his face, padding  
along tentatively.

Casey put his hands on Zeke's chest and sagged in, seeking the source of that soothing  
rumble. At just that point Zeke shifted and moved back, withholding himself.

"Sorry," Zeke said. "Let's say good night." He shrugged. "It won't be like this for long,  
Casey, I swear. Just give me time."

His father was sitting on the steps when he walked in, blocking his access to the second  
floor and sanctuary. He could have cried. "You were in that car a long time," said his  
father. "Don't try to deny it  that mustang's engine is unmistakable."

Casey resolved to just wait for whatever it was to happen. He no longer had the defenses  
even to brace for it. He wished his father would just hit him with his fists in fact; it was  
a lot easier that way.

It wasn't what he would have predicted.

"Casey...maybe  maybe you should see a doctor."

Dad was concerned  but then, he had surprised Casey once or twice in the last ten  
years. "Okay."

"Make an appointment with Dr. Lees. I'll take you there if you need."

"Okay."

"Casey"

Dad stood up at last. The path upstairs was open and Casey considered making a break for  
it.

"Have a good sleep," finished his parent awkwardly. As Casey moved past, he briefly put a  
hand on Casey's shoulder. Casey could have helped him; he could have stopped, said something  
to acknowledge the gesture. But he didn't. He was ready for collapse and there was still  
more to do before he slept. He got the cordless phone and went into his bedroom to converse  
in privacy.

"Hello?"

"Sasha"

"Casey! Just a second..." There was a break while Sasha moved away from all the background  
noise, whatever it was. He was probably at work, a slightly famous restaurant where he was  
one of the many sous-chefs. He had told Casey, joking but still obviously elated, that he  
was going to be Chief Under-Cook of Bread. "I had almost given up, I left that message with  
your folks and I wasn't even sure they'd give it to you."

"They did." Casey sat down on his bed, crossing his legs.

"Hey, kitten, how have you been anyway? I worry about you."

"Not  not so good, Sasha." Casey's throat closed painfully.

"Oh, poor kitten. I wish I was there to give you a big hug...listen, not to change the  
subject but I can't talk for very long here and I have to tell you something. Very important.  
Roy is...well, he's planning to spring himself on you."

"S-spring him-himself...?"

"His father died. I went to the funeral, which was very decent of me in my opinion, and  
I had no intention of talking to him but he came up to me and spun some crap about how much  
he regrets everything, yadda, yadda, yadda. I begged him not to call or show up or whatever  
it is he's planning but I'm afraid I had no effect on him."

"Sasha..." Casey clutched the phone.

"What?"

All the tears that had been dammed up and frozen during dinner started to flood out of  
him. "I...miss you..."

"Hey, I miss you too, kitten. Don't cry, okay, or you'll make me cry and I'll over salt  
the focaccia here."

"Kay."

"First of all, I want you to know that you can come and live with me any time you want.  
We'll be roomies. I don't want you to think for one second you don't have anywhere to go.  
Okay?"

"Un-huh."

"Now second...is there anyone there you can rely on?"

"Zeke?"

"Are you telling me or asking me? Who's Zeke?"

"M-my friend...from high school."

"Is he a good friend? Does he know the score with Roy?"

"A little."

There was a considerable pause.

"Casey...is this Zeke more than a friend?"

"Yes, I think  I don't know  he acts like  but then he's  
afraid"

"Oh, hell...why is it you only attract _conflicted_ gay men?"

"H-he's not gay"

"Sure, and I'm the Dalai Lama. But, kitten, it's probably just as well. The last thing  
you need right now is another relationship like that. You need someone with the guts to just  
love you and not give a damn about the rest. And when Roy shows up you need to tell him to  
go to hell."

His head ached. He wanted to lie down so badly. "Sasha, I just"

"Casey. Please tell me you aren't thinking about hearing him out."

Casey surrendered to a full-blown crying jag. "Sasha  I-I'm so tired and...I just  
want to...to...I'm so...tired."

"Casey, listen...Are you listening? Roy is the person who threw you out of his apartment  
and his life."

"But"

"He's already made all the arguments with me. That he had no choice, he didn't know what  
he was doing, he didn't know what he really wanted. You can't believe that, Casey. Don't  
you think  if his father were still alive do you think he would have had this sudden  
change of heart?"

"People  they change"

"Not him, not this time. I discussed this with him, Casey. I promise you, he has not  
changed and if you go back with him I may not be able to forgive you."

"Sasha..."

"I'm not kidding, Casey! You are never speaking to Roy again! Are we clear?!"

Some things were probably not forgivable  like stupidly outing your boyfriend in  
front of his new fiancee. Casey had figured he deserved to spend another Christmas alone.  
Arriving back at the apartment he had put on three layers of everything and took himself to  
Roy's bed, huddling under the covers trying to get warm. After an infinity he realized it  
wasn't going to work and he consigned himself to the cold. Time faded; for all he knew he  
had been lying there for a week when he felt, from a great distance, a hand touch his  
face.

"...Casey?"

He struggled to find his way back, found himself in a body that as shaking with cold and  
hunger. It was daylight, but he knew nothing of the time or the date.

"Jesus Christ...Casey."

Casey managed to focus on Roy's face, watching for anger. Surprised to see no little  
amount of worry, panic even. He croaked, "I'm sorry." He moved, arms and legs disconnected  
and sluggish. He pressed himself against Roy. Roy's arms came up around him.

"You're freezing," Roy was saying. "Casey...come on, let's get you into a hot shower."

He was aware of Roy undressing him as he would a child, turning on the water  not  
so hot at first to give his numbed skin a chance to adjust  and guiding him in. His  
hands wouldn't let go of Roy's shirt. With a sigh Roy gently unfastened his hands, shed his  
own clothes and climbed in with Casey, who fastened himself to Roy's bigger body. Roy stroked  
his back, up and down and in little circles, patterns, not trying to arouse. It took ten  
minutes under water that gradually increased in temperature to near scalding before Casey  
stopped shaking. Then Casey was seeking Roy's mouth, and Roy was refusing to be found,  
grasping Casey's chin firmly, keeping Casey's face in his view.

"You didn't know what you were doing, did you?" Roy asked in a soft, soft voice.

Casey burst into hysterical tears. He defied every law of self-help, promising to be  
good, to accept the engagement, to not contribute to the pressure Roy was under...

"I know," Roy soothed. "I know, baby. You didn't mean to do it. You went to the cottage,  
I wasn't there and you just needed me. I get that."

He was helping Casey from the shower as he said it. He wrapped a towel around Casey.

"Roy...do you...do you..."

"Do I what?" Roy was now working on getting himself dry with a second, fresh towel while  
Casey stood, mournfully clutching his own towel about his shoulders.

"Do you...luh....like her?"

Roy closed his eyes for just a second. He said coolly, "I'm sorry you had to see that,  
Casey. Jerry said you cried all the way to the bus station."

Had he? Funny, he didn't remember crying. He wandered into the bedroom, seeking the warmth  
of the bed and wanting Roy's body there. He dropped his towel on the floor and glanced over  
his shoulder to see if Roy was watching.

He was.

"You did that to yourself, though." Roy's eyes devoured Casey's naked form. "You need to  
eat something," he commented, his tone somewhat less stern than a moment ago.

Casey sat down on the bed. He lay back and stretched, arching his back. "Feed me," he  
suggested.

He didn't really want to eat and Roy made no move towards the kitchen.

"Maybe later," Roy murmured. "Right now...I have something else on my mind." With concise,  
purposeful movements he strode to the bed. He positioned himself over Casey's smaller frame,  
straddling Casey there and pinning him down. He gripped Casey's forearms with more force  
than was necessary to keep him still.

"You know," Roy said, impersonally. "I've never been so terrified as I was when I saw you  
in that room. I had to run to the bathroom to throw up."

Casey started to say he was sorry.

"Don't." Roy's grip tightened until he wrung a cry from Casey. "You don't speak...just  
listen."

Casey nodded.

"I was so angry at you at first  but you couldn't know what you did. Everything is  
so simple for you. Stand up, make a speech, all that matters is being yourself."

"That's not"

"Do you know that because of what happened my father suspects me again? Years of guarding  
myself, of being careful, any trust I had built...gone. He interrogated me about you. He  
already thinks you're a student of mine, so I told him that you're obsessed with me and  
followed me out there. He didn't really believe me." Roy stared down at Casey, his gaze  
pitiless. "I should really put an end to this now."

"Roy, I'm so sorry, so sorry"

"You destroyed me the other night. My father knows what we're up to...fuck, you didn't  
have to say a word. He could tell just looking at you. All I can do is hope that he's  
willing to let it remain a secret. Fortunately, he's terrified of a scandal."

"Please," Casey begged.

"Shh...." Roy slid back along Casey's body, freeing him momentarily so he could be molded  
into a new position. "I'm not going to end it. I can't. Not a minute of the day goes by when  
I don't think about you. I won't give this up." He settled between Casey's legs.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," pleaded Casey. "I would never hurt you."

"I know that. Like I said, I was angry at you but I'm getting past it."

"Let me make it up to you."

"Oh, you will." As he spoke Roy was putting his arms underneath Casey's legs and lifted,  
nearly folding Casey in half. His cock rested just at Casey's entrance. A little while later  
Roy's fingers were inside Casey, almost absently lubricating him and massaging the little  
gland inside, not quite preparing him but ensuring that he would be eager for anything that  
happened. Casey pleaded to be filled with his eyes only, trying not to speak. Roy obliged  
him at last, entering him slowly, methodically pressing in until Casey had taken every last  
inch, and then embarking on a long, casual fucking that was calculated to take the remaining  
shreds of Casey's discrete personhood while Casey recited his silent creed... _love you...love  
you...love you..._

"Casey? Are you there?"

"Yeah," he muttered, his face sticky with half-dried tears. "I'm here."

"It's finished with Roy, right? Say it, please."

"Finished," he echoed.

"That's my boy. Look, if you ask me I'll come up there. I will, just say the word."

"That's  that's okay, Sasha."

"I'm just really afraid of Roy showing up there, especially after everything that happened  
at the end."

A blond woman's hand, backed by a well-toned arm, struck his face. _You fucking slut!  
Stay away from him!_

"You simply have to stand up to him, Casey. This can't be like the other times. He's going  
to just appear and you can't go with him, you can't. He's not kind or loving or  shit,  
I hate this, I wish I was there. Listen to mama, kitten. Roy was your first so you don't  
know....passion and intensity are wonderful, but what he was doing to you went way beyond  
that. Passion doesn't have to leave you chewed up like that. He was taking things out on  
you."

He thought about saying, _I'm not stupid, I know things...I know...I want to be the one  
that he takes things out on...I need to be needed that much..._

"I have to tell you something, Casey....are you still there?"

"Uh huh."

"Right at the end, after Janice's little visit  well, you didn't seem to understand  
what was happening and I needed to do something. I called Roy and told him that you needed  
closure, you needed him to say it was over. I...I told him to be openly cruel for once  
because that's always been his problem, he thinks he can be the nice guy even when he's  
being completely evil. I told him he had to be the bad guy. And...I don't know what he said,  
but I know it _was_ bad."

Casey didn't say anything.

"I'm telling you now because I know what he's going to say. He's going to say that I put  
him up to it, I made him say all those things and he didn't mean it. Don't let him get away  
with it. Everything he said came from him. Shit  it's taken me way too long to admit  
this, but he is just not a nice person, Casey."

His voice said, "I understand."

"You must be mad at me."

"No. I'm not."

"You sound...Casey, I'm coming up there."

"Don't, I...I'm okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"I could probably get away for a visit later this summer."

"I would like that."

"Okay...but I'm going to call at least once a week until then!"

"Only you could say that and make it sound like a threat."

"Are you sure you're okay, because"

"I'm just tired, Sasha."

"Okay, I'll let you go then....kitten? You know I love you?"

"I love you too," returned the stranger in Casey's throat.

"Bye, kitten."

"Bye, Sasha."

"Roy?"

"Hi...Casey."

"Hi, Roy." Casey smiled to himself, remembering their lovemaking yesterday. It eclipsed  
the visit from Janice that had followed; throwing it into shadows that blurred the memory.  
Already the edges of Janice were fuzzy. Roy had put his mark on him, said this was like his  
real marriage not that other one that was going to happen. Roy had given him something that  
meant more than some stupid piece of gold, it was a real ring etched in his body.

"Casey...I guess you know that Janice followed us yesterday."

"Did she?" Casey asked, and yawned.

"Well...yes. She did come to see you yesterday, didn't she?"

"Mmm hmm."

"And...what did she say?"

Casey was perplexed. "I don't really remember. Does it matter?"

There was a long silence. "Casey, can I talk to Sasha for a second?"

"Okay."

It was comical, and Casey really wanted to take some Tylenol and go back to sleep. Sasha  
took the phone and closed the door and then proceeded to have a whispered exchange with Roy  
on the other side. Casey couldn't make out any of it, only that there was a conversation and  
it was somewhat animated. After a minute or so Sasha came in and handed the phone back to  
Casey.

"Casey?"

"Yes,Roy?"

"I have to tell you something. I thought Janice had already kind of delivered the message  
but I guess you don't remember...or something. And...Sasha says I need to tell you myself  
and he's right, so..." Roy coughed.

It was funny how people always talked about emotions like they happened in the chest,  
when really, they mostly happened in the stomach. They would churn and build quickly to a  
froth, gradually moving out into his body, sapping his strength, interfering with internal  
organs, shutting down entire systems.

"I told Sasha," Casey said quickly. "How you said that I should be at the wedding."

"Casey."

"He thinks Janice can order you around, that she can make us stop seeing each  
other"

"Casey."

" and he "

"Casey! Listen to me." Roy sucked an audible breath. "Are you listening?"

There it was all over his body now, the rattling and the shaking.

Roy said, "I can't  I _don't_ want to see you anymore. Janice and I are going to  
be married next week. You don't fit in my life."

"Wh what?"

"It's over, Casey."

"But...but..." Casey stammered. "I thought...you wanted me to come to the wedding. You  
said it would be more real for you...that way."

"You haven't been invited, Casey. I never invited you. You know, you're fucking  
delusional. If you show up at the wedding I swear you'll be in the hospital before the day  
is out. Which doesn't sound like a bad idea anyway. You need help, Casey. God, if I told a  
doctor half the things I know..."

"Stop," Casey mouthed.

"I mean, what was my first clue? That first day I knew you were insane, telling me about  
aliens who take over people's bodies  and of course you were the only one who could  
stop it. I really thought it was harmless at first."

"You s-said...you believed me."

"I decided not to comment and you just assumed. No one believes you, Casey. Ask Sasha if  
he believes you."

God, why wouldn't it _stop_? He had asked nice, he was always nice, wasn't he?

"Oh...fuck, fuck, _fuck_...Casey, I didn't mean to say that. The point is, I'm moving on,  
and you need to move on too."

"But yesterday"

"Don't you get it? I've been trying to figure out how to break it off with you for months  
now but you won't see it..."

"You said 'love you'. That's what you said."

There was just a bit of a pause and then Roy said, "I lied. I mean, how could I love you?  
All I see is a very fuckable body but there's nobody there. There has to be more than that  
for love."

Next thing was holding a plastic object to his ear. The noise coming out of the plastic  
thing was warbling, distorted.

"Casey? Are you there? Casey....? I'm sorry."

Someone took the plastic thing out of his hand. "Roy...you told him? Just so you know...if  
you ever  _ever_  try to see him or talk to him again..." It seemed lot a long  
time later when arms closed about him and Sasha said, "Casey...I'm here. If it helps."

Sasha always helped, but he mustn't know how useless it was. Sasha thought that hugging  
and saying things were not useless, and the theory was sound, but it really only applied to  
living things. Casey didn't have the animation to explain it to him. He wanted to make Sasha  
feel like he helped. He owed him that.

So he would eventually get up and wash and eat and write a couple of exams and go home  
and no one would ever notice that he wasn't breathing.

  



	4. Chapter 4

 

Stokely marvelled from Seattle: "Two calls in one month, I don't believe it."

"The first one doesn't really count," Zeke argued, "since I was just calling to cancel my wedding."

"And you don't have something just as earth-shattering to say this time?" she retorted.

"Busted."

"As I thought. Zeke Tyler never calls just to chat. There always has to be a pretext."

"Bite me," Zeke tossed back, momentarily at peace with himself and the universe. It had to be denial, but he figured he had some things to feel good about. He was paying far less than he should have for a furnished apartment with no obligation to stay, which meant that there was nothing tethering him and he could proceed with his new life upon a moment's whim. And he was relaxing on the futon and enjoying the way the early morning light caught the hardwood floors and set them glowing, all the while having nothing in particular to do except wait for Casey.

Stokely broke through his self-congratulation. "So what is it then?"

"I'm thinking very seriously about entering the University of Washington this fall."

"And moving here!" Stokely chimed in. "Oh, that's so fucking awesome. You could even stay with us!"

"Hold it, just hold it...I said thinking about it. There are some issues." And their name began with a 'C'.

"What issues? Nothing I couldn't talk you through I'll bet."

At times it was difficult to connect this upbeat, funny woman with the black-eyed, snarling bit she had been in high school. Love changed everything, it seemed. Yeah, Zeke scoffed himself. And if you believe that one, I can show you a guy who's met creatures from outer space.

"Well?" Stokely cued him.

Another threshold; he seemed to be finding himself at the damned things a lot lately as he struggled to find ways to be truthful about his new favourite pastime. There were those who suspected, but no one actually knew what he was up to with Casey. But he could tell Stokely, couldn't he? He sure as hell didn't see himself confessing to Stan...Hey, man, I've changed teams. Seems like I'm gay, at least in practice. That is to say, I've been practicing quite diligently.

He had to admit it: Zeke Tyler was needing a confidante.

Over the past three and a half weeks he had seen Casey nearly every day. A lot of days it started with breakfast; other days it would be the mid-morning coffee break followed by lunch. More often than not lunch was of the drive-through variety and they would go on to a more private spot to eat. And almost every night Casey was at his apartment and they would hang out and watch movies, or sometimes they would watch whatever happened to be on television, usually a baseball game. Zeke particularly enjoyed the t.v. nights, since they usually ended up doing something other than watching t.v.. Not so, movie nights. Zeke had learned that, for Casey, film was a seduction to total escape — even the older, black and white variety that Zeke generally found boring. He suspected Casey was capable of rendering a frame-by-frame analysis of any random selection from the Blockbuster down the street-or Casey would if someday he were in a mood to speak more than a few words at a time. Zeke eagerly anticipated the day that whole sentences and even paragraphs made a reappearance. In the interim, he had to be content with sparse little nuggets of information deduced from head shakes and grimaces, such as Casey didn't like mushrooms, preferred Burger King over McDonald's, and that he had yet to learn how to drive.

Fuck it all — content, Zeke was not.

He hadn't known how good he had it that first night, sharing a bed with Casey in blissful ignorance of all the reasons why he shouldn't. Sure, Casey would have slept with Zeke every night, any way that Zeke wanted, but there was no doubt in Zeke's mind that if he didn't make it a policy to shove Casey out the door the moment either of them stopped thinking above the neck, he would live to find it was a mistake much sooner than he wanted to. Even if Casey had been the picture of mental health, Zeke had qualms that had nothing to do with Casey and everything to do with Zeke's own, perplexing inner world of contradiction and second guesses. Yeah, it should have been a no-brainer: Boy meets boy. Boy wants boy. Boy overcomes arbitrary, unreasonable yet unsurprising attitudes inculcated by a lifetime of male training and studies the Joy of Gay Sex with boy...not.

"Hello? Earth to Zeke?"

"Sorry, Stokes."

"Thinking about your 'issues'?"

"Um...not exactly."

"Hmm. Are you ready to spill or shall we dance around a bit more?"

Zeke would proceed on the assumption that Stokes was trustworthy. Heck, she was rock solid dependable, and he was bursting to tell someone. "You have to promise not to tell Stan."

"Oh, shit, Zeke."

"I mean, you can't tell him yet."

"But eventually?"

"Eventually, yes. It's not a bad thing. I'm just not ready for anyone but you to know yet."

"I get you, okay? Now shoot."

"It's...Casey."

"Oh, is he around there?"

"Yes, he's here for the summer and...you know he's into guys?"

"Nope. Never crossed my mind," Stokely deadpanned. Then: "Shit! Is he in love with you or something?" "Or something." Zeke swallowed convulsively. "I think he's in love with me, yes, but it's more than that. He...we've been seeing each other."

"Who—? You mean...you and Casey?"

Zeke coughed up the word: "Yes."

"Since when?"

"Since about a month ago."

"Like right about the time you ditched Delilah."

"That happened first."

"I don't fucking believe this — so you're telling me you're gay now."

"I'm not gay."

Nobody could do sarcasm like Stokely: "Oh, so you're experimenting."

"Not exactly," he huffed.

"Okaaaay...you're into women and Casey."

"That's just about it."

"And...do you love him back?"

"That's personal, Stokely."

"I'm entitled to ask."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Um...I don't think Casey would mind me telling you this. He's had it bad for you since forever. I hope that you bear that in mind."

Rubbing his eyes, Zeke sighed deeply. "How do you know?"

"I used to go with him to the games sometimes. He always had this way of staring at you...like he was starving and you were his buffet."

"Great," Zeke muttered. Another kink in the knot.

"What's the problem?"

"Gee, how can I break it down? In a little over a month he's supposed to go back to Cincinnati and I want to move to Seattle."

"Does it have to be Seattle, Zeke?"

"Not really. I just want something new and far away from Herrington...and I won't give that up for anyone."

"That's sad, Zeke."

"No one can be everything to another person. That's romantic bullshit."

"I don't think I'll touch that one."

"I'm serious! There's this idea that people have to completely lose themselves in each other to be in love. It's a big scam in my opinion and everyone would be a lot better off and happier if Hallmark and Harlequin stopped spreading the lie around."

"Hmm," was Stokely's comment.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're right, of course. You're always right. Okay, so...options. People have done long distance relationships before. Or why don't you ask him to come to Seattle with you? He could transfer schools."

"But this is where it gets more complicated."

"How's that?"

"I...don't think I'm ready to ask him to do that. I'm not sure I want it."

"Aw, shucks, Zeke. You warm my heart."

"It's not like I don't care about him. Forgive me if I'm not ready to get married, I just got out of that with Delilah and I'm enjoying my freedom."

Even as he said it Zeke knew he was full of crap.

After a lengthy pause, Stokely said, "Have you talked to Casey about this?"

"I can't."

"You'd better, or I'll come there and kick your ass."

"Stokely, I hear what you're saying, but there are things you don't know..."

"So tell me."

How to begin to tell her that handling Casey these days was only slightly less scary than handling nitro-glycerine?

Perhaps the therapy was starting to help; he couldn't be sure. Casey didn't say much about it except that he was seeing someone on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Zeke left it at that. He knew that it would take time before he really saw any change — or a conclusive absence of change that said it was time to try something else. Casey did seem to be a little more...stable, for lack of a better term. He had not indulged in any big zone-outs during the past few weeks although there were moments and minutes that got to be alarming...but Zeke's voice seemed to be enough to pull him back most times, and the other times he came back on his own power. Zeke had done a little bit of reading on the subject of dissociative states and knew that the trances, while disturbing and perhaps embarrassing at times, were far from life threatening. But there was also the depression, and he had seen little to support a hope that it had lessened any — to say nothing of that entire alternate personality that Casey trotted out when none of the other disorders were working for him.

How to describe episodes like last night? It was still getting the instant replay in Zeke's head as he tried to analyze what had happened.

Herrington was officially having a heat wave. The temperature had not dropped below seventy-five for a couple of weeks and peaked most days at ninety-plus. Zeke had discovered the one drawback of his splendid new apartment: no air conditioning. It was large and airy and in most weather would have been comfortable, but through the past several days the temperature in the place had been climbing to point of being unbearable. Zeke took six showers a day in a vain attempt to regulate his internal thermostat but sleep still sucked and he was getting cranky. He had wanted to go out last night, to get out of the stifling box that he was supposed to be living in. Casey wanted to stay in and refused to explain why, which meant that Zeke was sitting on the futon sweaty and sticky and more than a little peevish, while Casey tried to be his Siamese twin. It felt like they were literally glued together even though Casey was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and regular length jeans — an act of either sheer bravado or sheer insanity as far as Zeke was concerned.

Zeke had turned to acts of sedation to cope; his fourth beer was in hand as he watched the game. He understood Casey's need for contact, he truly did, but this was too much to ask of a guy....he bore it as long as he could before trying to move away. He first shifted so that thighs and then arms peeled apart. Then he was inching sideways, trying to remove himself from that zone where their combined body heat was keeping Zeke's temper at a rolling boil.

He thought he was being fairly subtle about it until he cast a sideways look and glimpsed Casey's face. Not quite hurt, not quite mad, but entirely knowing.

"Cut me some slack," Zeke protested. "I'm stewing in my own juices here."

Casey didn't say anything.

"Oh, for..." He made what he thought was a heroic effort. "I stink anyway, you don't want to come near me."

There could not be many who would take the latter as an opening for innuendo, but it turned out Zeke was sitting next to one of them. Casey's eyes were travelling, passing over his body in broad but invasive sweeps, dwelling on certain features of the landscape. "You smell good to me," Casey replied.

He actually had the ability to make Zeke feel like a piece of meat at times. "Don't," Zeke muttered.

"Don't what?" asked Casey huskily, his voice changing, dropping and softening slightly at the same time.

"You know. And anyway — it's just too hot for touching."

Casey came right back with, "What if I only touched your cock?"

His face depicted a fevered interest, eyes dark and shimmering like the sea in a travel advertisement, suggesting refreshment and sensual pleasure at the same time. They held his for a full five seconds, then dropped to Zeke's lap, where his cock was all at attention, fully endorsing Casey's proposal. Zeke couldn't tear his eyes away from the slight shine of perspiration on Casey's skin, or the unholy red of his mouth as he pursed his lips, licked them once and never quite closed them.

Stupid brain, it wouldn't let him forget, reminded him he knew this scene backwards and forwards now. Every single time he was sickened and sad and unbearably tempted. The brain reminded him that Casey's behaviour had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with fear and still worse, and he should not be flattered by this, not at all because right now Casey had stepped out for a breather and some crazed living sex doll took over trying to convince Zeke that a body was meant for nothing but exploitation. It spurned tenderness and spewed contempt at simple overtures of affection. The Un-Casey's reasoning: Zeke likes me, Zeke should fuck me. If Zeke does not fuck me, Zeke does not like me. Simple.

His mistake was being quiet for too long. The Un-Casey took his silence as consent, slipping off the futon, kneeling in front of Zeke, sliding up between his splayed, bare legs. Zeke grabbed both his shoulders to hold him back, barking a note of panic.

Casey whispered to him, "Nothing we haven't done before."

Compassion, his brain recited. Empathy, honour...remember us?

Nope, said the rest of him.

Casey laid a hand along Zeke's thigh and trailed one finger up, up, to the edge of his cut-offs, inserting the finger just under the frayed edge, rubbing little circles that crept by increments towards Zeke's erection. His eyes flicked up to Zeke's, heavy-lidded, intent.

"I remember..." Zeke said with difficulty.

"Yes?"

"...I care about you."

"If you really cared, you'd let me do this," said the Un-Casey.

Finally, triumphantly, the brain had its way. Zeke moved Casey's hand away from his crotch, returned it to Casey. He put his own hand on Casey's cheek. "Casey, I mean this in the nicest way...."

Casey moved, shaking off the gesture.

"You're sick," Zeke finished.

"Look at you," Casey hissed, targeting Zeke's very obvious erection. "I know what you want. You just keep lying about it."

"What about you?" Zeke retorted, stung to reprisal. "You have no idea what you want."

Somehow he had struck home. The colour of the eyes softened to a wet indigo. Casey sagged back on his heels, his passion disappearing just as it always did.

"Let's try something else." Zeke leaned forward to cup Casey's face in his hands. "What if I touch you?"

He let his mouth brush against Casey's, once, twice. Slack, wet, it opened under his and let him taste. Impossibly, it was cool there and he dove in, swimming in the damp, slick inside of Casey like he was paid by the hour to do it. Casey's mouth shook under his, trembling, opening wider to give him access. He rejoiced as Casey's tongue took up the rhythm and danced with his. Casey leaned full against Zeke's chest, hands limp against him like he suddenly didn't know what to do with them. With their mouths sutured together Zeke helped him to find a comfortable seat straddling his waist, knees pressed down on the futon.

Zeke pulled his head back slightly, their mouths parting with a moist sound. Casey stared at him with bewildered, limpid eyes. Zeke just kept looking back at him, letting him know that he was seeing him, his thumb making small, tracing motions against his jaw, around his mouth, but mostly he just looked.

"You know you're beautiful?" Zeke wondered out loud.

Casey ducked his head. "Don't say that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

He took Casey's hand and brought it to his cotton-draped chest, urging Casey to touch him. Casey was tentative, his body shuddering with emotions that were fighting to find a way out of him. Zeke took his hand and kissed the palm. "It's okay," he whispered into it, pressing his lips there again, and again. A third time, and suddenly he was feeling Casey's erection pulsing against his like there was nothing between them and it was not only okay, it was perfectly right. He strained upward for another drowned kiss, Casey meeting him halfway there. It was beyond right now, it was....there were no words for what it was. He could only be puzzled that he had ever hesitated to feel anything that he could feel with this body.

"Do you want me to take my shirt off?" he breathed, and Casey nodded, his head rubbing Zeke's face and shoulder. Zeke sat up straight and tore off his damp t-shirt ungracefully. Casey's hands went flat against his torso, pushing him back again, and a unbelievably flexible tongue went to work on his left nipple, making damp little circles and figure eights...the teeth bit down, just a shade past gentleness and Zeke nearly howled, thrusting upwards. "Fuck!"

Casey teased the same nipple a little more, then moved to the other. One of Zeke's hands got threaded into Casey's hair; the other wound its way around the collar of Casey's shirt. He needed to get rid of the thing, get them skin to skin. He found a bare patch of skin, tugged at the fabric, stretching it, baring Casey's shoulder.

It took him a second to realize what was happening. Casey's head was straining to get away and Zeke was pulling his hair. He let go, lifting his hands and staring up at Casey who still straddled him, gasping.

"I want to feel you," Zeke stated. He reached for the hem of Casey's shirt, started to pull it up.

Casey jerked and cried, "no" and lurched off of Zeke as though he had been hit by a bolt of electricity, fighting to get out of arms reach. He ended on the floor again, this time with his back to the futon and arms around his knees, not looking at Zeke.

After a good long time during which Zeke battled a hundred different emotions, he got up and fetched himself another beer. Casey remained as he was, on the floor. The quiet became fearsome, so Zeke switched the tube back on and tried to pay attention to baseball.

After a time he was aware that Casey was sitting beside him, eying him with a mix of apology and despair.

"I don't know what to say," Zeke admitted.

"I'm s—"

"Don't say it." He tipped his bottle up, took a healthy gulp. The ache in his shorts had almost subsided. "Some things are too fucked up for sorry."

 

The memory was still too fresh; the morning after it happened and Zeke was still far from able to speculate on the reasons, still choking down a full course meal of anger and pain, with a side of embarrassment. They hadn't talked about what happened. Casey was quite obviously determined not to; and Zeke wasn't too eager to push him.

Mercifully, his buzzer announced someone downstairs. "That's him now," he told Stokely. "I have to go. We'll talk again, okay?"

"Okay... Zeke?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't hurt him. He's kind of different, you know?"

Despite the justness of the request, Zeke experienced more than a little resentment. It wasn't like he had nothing at stake in this. On the other hand, he had just finished telling her how much he was enjoying being an island. Why should she think anyone but Casey was a risk here?

The buzzer screeched again, signalling impatience. That wasn't like Casey, who would stand outside in a pouring rain without complaint if Zeke were inclined to make him wait. "Later, Stokes."

He bounded down the stairs and threw the door open. It always kind of took him by surprise how eager he was to see Casey, even on a morning after a night like the last. Zeke had to admit that he craved Casey's presence, although it was difficult to know why since Casey barely spoke and transformed the most mundane situations into drama. Zeke certainly had no trouble sleeping lately; every day he was exhausted by the time his head hit the pillow.

The face that met him outside his door was not the one he was looking forward to.

"Bon matin, mon cher. Goodness, don't you look surprised? Did you forget I was visiting?"

Zeke remembered reading somewhere that people suffered minor heart attacks all the time and survived them. He hoped it was true. The woman who had given birth to him stood on the step, smiling, wearing some kind of long, silk, drapey thing that complemented her tall, slender frame and long hair. He had been told that they looked alike but he didn't see it. Hair and eye color...okay, easy enough to admit but there wasn't much else. Really.

"Rachel...."

"Are you going to let me in, Zeke?"

"Of-of course."

Zeke's brain stepped into high gear as he led her upstairs. What were the chances that Casey had not left home yet, that he was not already on his way here? And why hadn't he bought Casey a cell phone just so he could reach him at moments like this?

"Oh, this is beautiful!" exclaimed his mother upon getting the full view of the apartment. "I thought maybe you were so ashamed of it you didn't want me to see it."

"Why would you think that, Rachel?" Zeke demanded.

"Because you didn't bother to give me your new address." Rachel's eyes were taking everything in as she spoke, assessing, judging. "I had to call Delilah for it."

"I'm sorry, I forgot you were coming."

"I told you when we talked that day."

"Yes, you did, but I forgot."

"Hmm. I guess that tells me where I stand."

A sigh and a flutter of lashes punctuated the comment, a wistful twist of the mouth as though too much was between them and wasn't life tragic that way? It wasn't guilt that she was after, though. Rachel Tyler did not do guilt; what she did was far more insidious, and she had been doing it since Zeke was a child. She always proceeded on the assumption that she was irresistible to men, whether or not they were her son, and upon that basic premise she fabricated infinite ways to make them sorry for it.

Zeke's only recourse was not to engage with her, but even by not playing along he was already losing, getting wrapped up in the emotional threads until he couldn't move without snaring himself even further. "Rachel, you know exactly where you stand."

"You sound remarkably bitter for such a young man, cheri. And that reminds me...have you spoken to your father lately?"

"No." Zeke couldn't stop imagining Casey's foot on the step, his hand on the entrance button. He couldn't conceive of a single strategy to keep Casey and his mother apart.

"He's seeing some new tart. Apparently, she's a fitness instructor...isn't that delightful?"

"Rachel...you couldn't care less."

"Hmm. You're right, it is petty of me." Rachel threw herself onto one of the couches, bouncing slightly to test its comfort level.

This was the hell of it: she was irresistible. The trail of stricken males behind her extended from London to Hong Kong. Zeke himself had passed through adoring and hating her, and if he was completely honest with himself he knew he had never stopped admiring the packaging...even as he loathed the contents. She had never let things get ordinary, not even when she was still pretending to be a mother.

"How long are you staying?" Zeke asked bluntly.

"That's my boy — right to the point. I'm only here for the day. I was on my way to New York and decided to take a detour to Cincinnati, drive up and see you."

What were the odds that her decision to drop in was precipitated by his sudden change of heart with regard to Delilah? He knew that phone calls had been made behind his back, and gossip exchanged.

Rachel looked up at him and squinted slightly. "Sit down, Zekie. Don't be so nervous."

"I'm not nervous. And don't call me that — I hate that."

"If you're not nervous then sit down...Zeke."

Refusing to sit, or sitting...neither was the correct answer so he might as well take a load off.

"What are you doing today, Zeke? I thought we might spend some time together."

He and Casey had planned a short hike and picnic at Stonelick State Park, about an hour's drive away. They had chosen the park together...performing the web search, reading about the park's natural features and trail availability. Zeke's trunk was already full of gear, and lunch was in the fridge, packed and ready for transport. "I have plans already."

"Oh? Such as?"

"Casey and I were going for a hike."

"Oh, Casey! Right...you're spending time with him, are you?"

"Yes..." he allowed, his eyes narrowing as his senses screamed a warning. There was something coming that he was not going to enjoy.

Rachel shook her head. "You want to be careful around him, Zeke. Celia Profitt tells me—"

He didn't get to hear what Celia Profitt had to say because the buzzer announced Casey waiting downstairs. He flew down to get the door, opening it to Casey's moon-pale face.

"Casey, wait—" he blurted as Casey took a step, about to come inside as he had every morning for the past three weeks. Zeke realized he had blocked the door with his body, preventing Casey from entering. "My mother is here," he said in a low tone. "I haven't told her..."

"Oh." Casey shuffled his feet. "I guess...the hike is-is off, then?"

"No, the hike is most definitely on! I just wanted to warn you."

"I won't say anything," Casey promised instantly.

"That's not what I meant."

Of course, it was what he meant.

"Okay," Casey agreed, again too quickly.

Zeke's blood felt hot inside his body. He turned away and gestured for Casey to follow him. The guilt over this dialogue, replayed daily in various configurations and contexts, was beginning to have a life and intelligence of its own, twisting inside him, feeding on his good intentions and expelling them as anger at Casey himself. He watched himself say things and do things that hurt Casey and never felt able to stop it from happening. Several times a day Zeke would look to Casey's face for a rescue, desperate for Casey's purifying wrath to be visited upon him, for Casey to call him on his bullshit. There was nothing, always nothing.

His official story was that he didn't actually give a damn what his mother thought — so why was he lying, and asking Casey to lie too? If anything he should be savouring the look of shock when he told her the truth. He imagined it would resemble the look she had displayed when the sixteen-year-old Zeke told her he couldn't live with her anymore and outlined the terms of her departure — and there, there was the sticking point. She hadn't had power over him for a while now and the second she knew about Casey she would have it again: the power to have the news spread across Herrington and half of Ohio within two days, so that everyone who knew him would think of him as "that Zeke Tyler who went gay and took up with that crazy kid who saw aliens." People would look at him and see what they saw when they looked at Casey...flaky, delusional, possibly violent...weak.

His mother was lying in wait near the door; he started a little upon seeing her. Forcing calm on himself, he said, "Rachel...you remember Casey?"

"Of course," responded Rachel, perfectly polite. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Casey."

His parents and Casey had met, right after the Mary Beth incident. They had been away while it all unfolded of course, but immediately after they had converged on Herrington along with the journalists and government officials. The Tylers had posed as relieved parents while Zeke responded to questions, and he later had introduced Casey to them with, "This is the person who saved us." Rachel had taken Casey's hand, eyes cool, had congratulated him, and had not spoken of the matter again. Zeke had never discovered her opinion of it all; he did notice that for a while afterwards she treated him with the same careful respect you would accord a hired killer: There was no reason to think he was after you, but it was good strategy to be watchful all the same.

Now Zeke could not help but see Casey through his mother's eyes. Casey was odd-looking. Small, and delicate now with the recent weight loss. Today his hair had left fashion behind and entered the realm of the unkempt. His eyes dominated his face, giving Zeke a bit of a shock when he looked at him. He was truly alien-looking, like the pallid, spindly creatures who were generally represented as The Extraterrestrial in the popular mind set. Never mind homosexuality...all of Herrington would think Zeke was carrying on with another species altogether.

"So you boys are going on a hike?" his mother queried, all bright and hard.

Zeke replied steadfastly, "Yes, Rachel."

"How far do you think you'll go?"

"We were thinking just a half a mile or so." He would have preferred a longer hike but was concerned about Casey's endurance. In fact, he had hesitated to suggest the hike in the first place. The thing was that Casey loved for them to get away from Herrington together. It may have been fantasy on Zeke's part, but the further they got from the town, the more the brittle layers of Casey-As-He-Is-Now seemed to soften and slough away to reveal glimmers of Casey-As-He-Had-Been. So even if they ended up picnicking in the car it would be worthwhile.

"Hmm," Rachel observed, watching Casey closely.

"Maybe...maybe we should go another day," Casey suggested, exactly as Zeke knew his mother had intended.

Rachel pounced. "Would you mind terribly?" she said in that gooey voice that Zeke most despised. "I was hoping to spend some time with Zeke and we only have today."

"I have a whole lunch in the fridge," Zeke growled.

"Well, why don't we eat it here?" Rachel pressed. "Or...I could take you both out for lunch."

Casey looked at Zeke for his preference. Zeke considered his mother, and Casey, and was put in mind of a yellow-eyed jackal about to pounce on an injured bird. But he couldn't think of a way to get Casey out of her scopes without saying something that would be equally hurtful.

"No, thank you," Casey said and he was doing that thing he did where he dredged up an entire day's worth of energy to say the one thing that would rescue Zeke from the situation. "You and Zeke should have some time together. I'll go home — I'm not feeling the greatest anyway."

"But you were going to hike?" Rachel favored Casey with a brilliant, fake smile. "What a hero you are."

Zeke wasted no time in steering Casey to the door and all the way to the bottom of the stairs. "Do you need a ride home?" he asked, his tone a bit sharp, grieving for their lost day.

A quick shake of the head. "No," Casey said quickly. "I feel like walking."

"Case...I am sorry."

Predictably, Casey shrugged. He watched Casey's small, lonely form walk away and turned to face an unpleasant day.

Back upstairs, his mother was pouring herself some coffee. "Zeke," she started, and just by that one syllable he knew something was coming that was going to really piss him off. "—I know you don't want to hear this—"

"So just don't say it." Zeke collapsed into the leather arm chair.

"But I need to, dear. I am your mother." Rachel sat down opposite him, coffee in hand. "I don't wish to be unkind but your friend looks like a sinking ship. Don't let him take you down with him."

Zeke dug his fingers into the leather hard enough to scar it. "Even if it were true — which it isn't — you have no right to comment."

"I wouldn't be so sure. Zeke, there are people in this world who are just born with bad wires. Maybe it takes a while for it to really show, but it does eventually and then there's nothing to be done. You can stick around and try to help them but it's really out of your control and you'll just burn yourself out trying."

Zeke's fists were clenched along the side of his legs now. "You ought to know about bad wires."

"I know you, dear, more than you want to admit. You can't resist playing rescuer."

"You know nothing about me."

If she were any other person, he might have accepted the expression on her face at this point as hurt, and he might have wanted to take back his last comment. In her case, however, she shot right past hurt and landed on retaliation. "It's obvious what he is, Zeke! Are you going to tell me you haven't been messing around with him?"

"That's none of your business — but let's say for the sake of argument that I am 'messing around' with him? What about it?"

"Are you?"

"I told you that's none of your business."

"You're my business, Zeke."

"That's where you're dead wrong, Rachel. You forfeited your parental right to give a damn a while ago."

"Why are you so angry with me? Other boys have mums and dads who live at different addresses."

"That's not — you know, I'm not even going to have this conversation. I was clear, wasn't I, when I explained to you how involved you would be in my life? As in — not very?"

Rachel Tyler actually managed to look sad, implying that she actually cared about her offspring's well-being. "Yes. You were very clear. Can't a mother hope for a second chance?"

Zeke Tyler knew the game and he knew better. "You've had it. And the fifth, and the fiftieth."

"You said we could be friends at some point."

"Well, Rachel, then I have to tell you that this conversation is not inspiring friendly feelings in me."

"Okay! I won't say anymore."

"That would be acceptable."

"God...you're so difficult, Zeke. You were difficult from day one—"

"I'm two seconds away from giving up on our friendship altogether."

His mother folded her arms and pouted very attractively. "You've made your point." She was quiet for a count of ten, toying with the handle of her coffee mug. "So...you and Casey Connor."

"Yes."

"Then why did you lie to me before when I asked you if you and Casey were together? That day that I called?"

"You didn't ask."

She smiled a sly smile, and it suddenly hit Zeke what he had done.

 

It wasn't such a long walk but the heat was fearsome, and it was still only mid-morning. This type of heat generally made him flee to the indoors even when he was a kid. The light hurt his eyes, his clothing felt clammy, and every step was begrudging. The lyrics from a song his mother used to listen to popped into his head and reprised themselves endlessly as he trudged along...the road is long...the road is long...those were the only words he knew of it. He could have laughed. This was the guy who was going to go on a hike? Ah, but it was different when Zeke wanted it. He always managed to find a little something extra for Zeke.

Finally home, he was beyond exhaustion. He took himself to his bed.

He lay there for hours, listening to summer noises...the neighbour kids screaming under icy-cold sprinklers, the occasional parental laugh...He was braided into one of his sheets listening to it all, finding the noises soothing. The phone rang a few times, off at a distance, and went unanswered. The house was empty now; his father had used up his vacation days and returned to work, and his mother was out, crossing items off a to-do list.

People could be very surprising — his father being a case in point. Even with everything Casey had done to him, Frank still tried to be a father according to his definition of it, while openly displaying a resigned sort of disgust for Casey's "life choices".

Frank Connor had made a real effort on the day that Roy appeared. It was only a few days after Sasha's warning and Casey truly hadn't been expecting it. Of course he was still asleep when his father's voice came shouting up that there was someone at the door and he dredged himself from the bed and staggered downstairs with no thought of what would be there in the front hall.

"Hello, Casey." Roy appeared different — less student now, more business tycoon. He appeared to be in perfect health, and Casey did not miss the wedding ring on his left hand.

There had actually been a time when Casey dreamed of having Roy and his father together in the same space. The reality was horrific. Casey sat down on the step and stared up at the two men while struggling to force breath in and out. At first they had not been looking at him but at each other, sizing each other up. Roy offered his hand to Casey's father. "I'm Roy Windle. You must be Mr.Connor. It's a pleasure to meet you."

His father was not always the most perceptive man, but even he couldn't fail to observe that his son was close to hyperventilating. He had ignored the proffered hand and said, "We've never met and I don't recall Casey ever mentioning your name."

At this Roy pulled out his most charming mask. "That's my own fault, I'm sure." He then turned from Casey's dad and said forthrightly, "Will you talk to me, Casey? I know I've done nothing to earn it."

Frank Connor's hand clapped down on Casey's shoulder with startling authority, bearing his opinion of the request.

"Just here on the front porch?" Roy urged.

He needed to get Roy and his father apart, so he had nodded his agreement.

Roy talked. He spoke of his father and his wife and his feelings about everything and how much he wished to make amends and Casey said not a word. Now that the initial panic was past there was such stillness inside him. He kept feeling the edges, puzzling, wishing that a word or something would appear, and...nothing. Just nothing. He sensed that his dad was watching; his dad would have listened with the front door open and only the screen between them if he thought he could get away with it. After maybe twenty minutes Roy had lost patience and asked Casey to go for a coffee.

Casey went.

They went to the same Starbucks where Zeke always stopped for coffee. Casey envisioned Zeke walking in, and upon seeing him with Roy he would demand Who the hell are you? and Roy would draw himself up proudly and say Roy Windle? And you are? Whereupon Zeke would do something very Zeke. He wouldn't just punch Roy. He would do something like throw a chair at him with surgical precision and when Roy was lying on the floor, bruised and humiliated, Zeke would say to Casey in a tone that was silk over steel come here and Casey would come to him and be drawn into his arms there in front of the entire coffee-drinking community of Herrington and they would walk out together.

Casey kept his eye on the door while he and Roy were sitting there.

Roy was making compassionate with his face as he took in every bit of Casey. He eventually remarked, "This is kind of like how we started out...remember?"

Casey lifted his mug-hot tea, because he felt cold all over in the air conditioned cold front that prevailed in most retail locales these days. He breathed on the surface of the liquid, letting the steam warm his face.

"You don't look very happy," Roy went on. "But then, you never were, were you? I know that's partly my fault."

The doorbell jingled; Casey looked. No Zeke.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Roy intuited.

Casey nodded quickly.

"Ah."

There was a moment of silence.

"How serious is it?"

"Why?" Casey asked, knowing the reason but needing to get to the gist of the interview quickly.

"Well...I might as well put my cards on the table, so to speak. I miss you, Casey. I want us to be like we were, but much better this time, I swear. I'll be good to you. When you come back to school you can live in the apartment, or a new apartment. Janice won't mind, she understands now that this is a part of who I am. I can visit two times a week — the rest of the time you'll have the place to yourself."

Casey didn't have anything to say. There had been no protestations of love. Just an apartment and an offer. Apologies had been presented at the appropriate time.

Zeke was going to school in the fall, as far from Herrington as he could get and he had said nothing to Casey about it so far so obviously it was to have nothing to do with him. Zeke didn't know that he knew; he had found the University of Washington calendar stuffed in the drawer with the phone book in Zeke's apartment.

"I'll give you some time to think it over," Roy said. "I'll come back next Tuesday...I'll be staying at the Best Western." He downed the rest of his coffee, eying Casey. "Whoever this guy is, I don't think he's good for you." He stood up, and considered Casey from on high. "You're free to tell me to piss off, of course, but...we could go to the hotel right now...if you wanted." Roy adopted a waiting pose. Like he didn't care if Casey came with him or not.

Casey got up and proved what he knew already — that Roy did care, and a lot at that. He walked with Roy to the door, then to the corner, and then to the hotel. Afterwards they met on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the lobby and went upstairs together.

This was how one came to be a superbly accomplished liar; at some point it became a simple matter of survival. The only time he felt real was when Roy was buried to the hilt inside him, forcing a new layer of bruises over the old ones on his hips, buttocks and arms. It wasn't that Roy ever needed to hold him down, but he understood what Casey needed, what he craved. And so the lies came easily. He told Zeke that he was visiting a therapist on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. He told his father he was helping Zeke at his place of business. Zeke hadn't asked about who he was seeing, his father never asked him what he and Roy talked about, and it made the lying even easier — and still more necessary.

If Zeke had really wanted to he could have discovered the signs that were left for him of Roy's presence despite Casey's request that there be no evidence in the places that Zeke would see. Roy was well aware of the unkind truth: Zeke didn't really want Casey. In fact, every time they were together Roy found a way to make the point that Zeke obviously didn't have very strong feelings for Casey since he seemed only wanted to kiss and cuddle, and then Roy would make a point of biting or bruising in places that were nearly impossible to cover. He would smile and say, "I'm almost doing you a favour."

Casey knew this much. Zeke was going to leave him; that was inevitable. The only questions were when, how, and why.

The screen door banged downstairs, his mother returning from her errands, probably gardening-related. Lately she had been investing a lot of her energies in landscaping their yard. The flowers were brighter and thicker than Casey had ever seen; plus, there was a major crop of tomatoes. Somehow, the tomatoes worked their way into every meal in the Connor household. Casey was accustomed to hearing his father complain about it on a daily basis although it didn't seem rationally connected to anything since dad ate them readily enough. Casey closed his eyes and listened for the faint sounds of his Mom moving here and there, putting things away, starting dinner.

A heavy-eyed blink and dad was home too. A murmured conversation ensued. Funny how that sound signified comfort, reminding him of Saturday nights as a child laying in bed hearing adult voices — his parents and their friends — catching a waft of cocktail meatballs and cigarette smoke. Now when he heard the murmur he knew they were discussing him. He was sorry to be such a burden to them but one way or another he would be gone soon, and they could resume their lives in peace.

The phone again. He closed his eyes, staring at the space inside his lids. It had ways ofchanging color, of adopting patterns of lines or blobs of light. It was fascinating; he spent a lot of his time studying them lately.

"Casey?"

His Mom was there, holding the phone. He shook his head at her, quickly.

"He's sleeping, Zeke...okay, I'll tell him."

He was surprised when, a few moments later his mother's weight settled on his bed with a creak. Dry, familiar hands brushed his hair away from his face.

"Zeke wants you to call later. He said his mother's gone. She was in town, then?"

Casey nodded, letting his eyes fall open.

"Rachel Tyler," his mother sighed. "There's a story and a half. It's amazing that Zeke turned out as well as he did." His mother rested her palm on his forehead, then his cheek. "You're so thin, Casey. Please eat something tonight. I'll bring you a tray if you like." She paused, coughed slightly and announced, "I've made an appointment for you with Dr. Lees. It's for next Monday."

As his mother stood again and went downstairs to prepare for another battle with her son over what and how much he was eating, Casey thought to himself that people were very surprising indeed.

 

People could really suck, that was what Zeke had learned from an early age.

After his mother left, Zeke spent a substantial chunk of time chain smoking and panicking. The step was taken though, there was no going back. He knew why he had done it, of course. He simply couldn't resist any action that could annoy, dismay or otherwise piss that woman off — but in retrospect it occurred to him that she had not been nearly as upset as he would have hoped. In fact, she seemed damnably amused by it all.

Casey phoned him back as requested, a couple of hours after dinner. Zeke was no longer able to untangle the knot of stuff that rose in his chest when he heard Casey's voice. It was getting to be truly formidable.

He tried to be casual. "Hey, Case."

"Zeke...is...is everything o-okay?"

"I just wanted to say hi. I...missed you today."

Long silence at the other end. Casey had to be wondering what was up with him.

"Did you miss me?" Zeke pressed.

"Yeah," Casey replied sleepily, nothing in his voice to make it convincing.

"Rachel's gone now," Zeke said, so brightly he bothered himself. "Do you want to go get an ice-cream?"

"Um. I guess."

"You sound like you don't want to."

"No, I...I do."

"Casey. Come on, now. It's okay. We'll do it another night."

"Okay."

"Hey, maybe we could do our little hike tomorrow?"

"I-I would, but — I have therapy."

"Oh, right. We'll get there, though. Next week. For sure."

"For sure," Casey echoed.

Zeke tamped down a tsunami of frustration. He was tired of being torn by guilt and desire and too much understanding. He was tired of himself, and of Casey's Problems. He was tired of fighting to remember something other than this pale replica that was masquerading as Casey. If everyone could see the real Casey, they wouldn't look at Zeke when the truth came out and wonder if he were out of his mind. They would nod knowingly and say it was understandable, that Casey could make anyone sprout a sexual crisis.

But if Casey were to shine, Zeke had to give him some reason.

"Casey?"

"Yeah, Zeke."

"I told her."

A pause. "T-told her?"

"I told her about us. You and me."

"What did she say?"

"Does it matter?"

"No...not really..."

"It feels good. And you know what?"

"What?"

"You know how we're supposed to go to Delilah's birthday party tomorrow night?"

"Yeah."

"I think, maybe...maybe it's time to be open with Delilah — and everyone else, but mostly Delilah."

Something in Casey's voice was different when he said, "Yes...yes. I'd like that." A tiny hint of something happy.

"I don't mean some big speech..."

"No...'course not."

Zeke added teasingly, "I need you to look really hot, though."

"Sure," Casey replied in a tone of utter amazement.

"Okay, then. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Zeke ended the call feeling very pleased with himself. The feeling lasted for exactly seventeen point five minutes, which had to be some kind of record for him.

He had a dream that night. That was odd; he never had dreams that he remembered. The dream itself was disappointing. Thoroughly predictable, no interpretation required, thanks. He was at a party (not Delilah's party) at a nondescript house that in the way of dreams was completely known to him (again, not Delilah's, not the one they had shared for a year where the party would be). He was trying to tell people a big secret of his, something about his favourite flavor being vanilla, not chocolate. Everyone nodded, unsurprised, but he heard constant whispers around him that dissolved the moment he turned to face them. He was carrying around a travel brochure and telling everyone he was taking a trip to Central America and in fact, the plane was leaving in a couple of hours. He kept glancing at his watch, thinking he had to leave or he would miss his flight, and when it seemed like it was too late, someone told him that the flight had been delayed and so he could still make it. He jumped into his car and it wouldn't start. He was pulling pieces of the engine out and throwing them on the ground, frantically trying to repair the damned thing when he woke up and pondered the fact that Casey had been nowhere in the dream.

All day he hid in his office and told his staff not to put any calls through. Finally, around four-thirty he went home to shower and get ready for the party. He was exhausted, his voice was hoarse from smoking too many cigarettes, and the evening that stretched before him had been transformed from a milestone to an ordeal that one could only wish to survive.

The phone was ringing as he got out of the shower. Thinking it was Casey he hurried to grab a towel and nearly tripped on a wet bathroom flower, narrowly evading traction and paralysis. Skidding into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist he was puzzled to see on the call display that it was a Cincinnati area code.

"Hello?"

"Oh! Um...I'm calling for Casey Connor. Is he there?"

"No," Zeke snapped. "Is there some reason he would be?"

"He gave me this number as an alternate to reach him."

"Who is this?"

"His friend, Sasha. Look, I'm sorry to bother you. I haven't been able to get a hold of Casey at his home number so I thought I'd try here." There was a pause. "So...you're Zeke."

The combination of sly interest and unwelcome friendliness infuriated Zeke instantly. "You know me?"

"Sure, Casey told me about you."

"Did he."

"Hey, he didn't give me any nasty details if that's what you're worried about."

"There are no 'nasty details', Sasha, and you'd better mind your own business."

"Man! Take it easy would you?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't call here looking for Casey. He's at home and I don't like your assumptions."

"Fine. Whatever...fuck! Just — if you see him, tell him I'm coming up there to see him. Do you think you can manage that or is it too much of an assumption?"

"I'll tell him," Zeke said.

"Thank you."

The phone at the other end was slammed down.

 

As Casey was putting his clothes back on that afternoon, Roy observed, "You aren't yourself today. Something wrong?"

Casey stuck to the immediate task and didn't answer.

"Maybe it isn't my place to say, but it seems like that guy isn't worth the trouble. He's supposed to care about you and yet he won't touch you. What is that?"

"Don't talk about Zeke," Casey blurted out. It might have seemed like defiance but it was sheer panic. Ever since Zeke's announcement on the phone yesterday, stomach-turning dread had been his constant companion. Roy always had something to say about Zeke, but today it was unbearable.

"All right, message received!" Roy shifted lazily, still naked under rumpled, soiled sheets. "I just thought...well, never mind. It's just a low libido day, huh?" In the mirror, Casey saw that he was grinning but the grin faded under Casey's silence. "I can see that you're tired, baby. I'd like to make it better. You could come back to Cincinnati early, just relax and let me take care of you."

"Need to stay."

"What for? There's nothing keeping you here. Certainly not that person I'm not allowed to talk about. Here's what I'm going to do, baby. I'm going to rearrange my schedule and stay another day. Twenty-four hours. You think about everything and decide if maybe you'd like to come home with me tomorrow. If I don't see you or hear from you I'll just go."

"You'd come back next week?"

"Of course." Roy rolled out of the bed. He walked up behind Casey, draping his arms around him and resting his head on Casey's shoulder. They were looking at each other reflected in the mirror. "What did I say at the beginning? I'll never let you go. I would much rather you were in Cincinnati, though."

He kissed Casey's neck and sent him away with the promise that he would be at the hotel, waiting. He gave Casey money for a taxi.

Back at home, Casey stood in the shower for thirty minutes, washing away Roy's hands and mouth and cock. The offer mustn't be dismissed outright. Of course he didn't want to leave Zeke — but he had changed his mind about running. He would much rather run than be chased.

The call came just as he was pulling on his usual jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. "Casey! Zeke's on the phone!"

He went downstairs to take the phone from his father. He put his foot on the stair, intending to take it to his room. "Just how many people have you told?" came Zeke's voice. It was clipped and furious.

"Wh-what?"

"I was wondering how many of your flamer friends you've told about us."

Casey's legs trembled; he sat down on the step. "I-I d-don't know what-don't know what you m-mean."

"You told your friend, Sasha."

Casey's tongue seemed to be glued to the roof of his mouth.

"You gave him my phone number? We aren't living together, are we?"

"N-no."

"Then why?"

"I-I — just-in-case-he.."

"Who else?"

"...n-needs-to-"

"Who. Else."

"M-m-my parents kinda... 'm sorry, Zeke!"

"Mm. Hmm."

Zeke was silent; Casey knew he was struggling with his temper. "Never mind," Zeke concluded at last. He didn't sound any less angry, though. "It just took me off guard."

"I-I-d-didn't mean to."

"I know. I sorry for freaking out. So...I'll pick you up in a half an hour."

Casey didn't dare speak.

"I hope you didn't forget?" At Casey's continued silence, Zeke sighed. "Delilah's birthday party."

"Kay, but-maybe we shouldn't—"

"Don't even. You can't tell me you don't want people to know."

"Y-yes, but...it doesn't have to...to..."

"To what?"

"Happen tonight."

"I said I would do it and I'll do it. End of discussion."

"Okay—"

"And Casey?"

"Yes, Zeke?"

"I don't want to say this, but...can you try not to be weird?"

"Oh...okay."

Casey's hands shook so much that he had trouble stabbing the button to hang up the phone.

He had a task, that would be his focus, not the fact that Zeke was angry with him for being just too fucked up and stupid. Zeke was honourable; he felt that he had made a promise and he would keep it even if he were ready to give up on Casey once and for all so Casey had to do everything he could to make it easier for Zeke tonight. Zeke needed him to look good. He could understand the concern; lately he hadn't really been taking care of himself, not doing the basic things like fixing up his hair or even washing his face. If it hadn't been so crucial to keeping Zeke from finding out about Roy, he probably wouldn't have showered either. It all just seemed like too much effort.

He knew that Zeke loved it when he wore the blue shirt — bought for him by Roy, that had to be either funny or tragic but he couldn't figure which. He found the shirt in the basement in a pile of clean laundry. It was appallingly wrinkled, again something that he wouldn't have bothered to care about except that tonight it mattered so he took it upstairs to the ironing board which was always kept ready for action in the spare bedroom. By the time the iron was hot his hands were steady enough to grasp it. He began to smooth out the wrinkles, hurrying but trying to be thorough too. He liked the crisp release of the steam, seeing the way things that were complicated became smooth and pleasing to the eye as they passed underneath the bright, hissing steel...

He realized that something was burning at the same time as his father yelled — "Jesus H. Christ!" — and his father was standing up the iron that had been lying face down and neglected by Casey, the acrid smoke displacing the fresh, cottony steam while Casey dreamed. The ironing board wobbled, and then there was fiery pain as the iron fell over and landed on his lower right arm. He pushed it off, barely hearing his father screaming something at him.

Casey stared at his shirt which was strewn on the floor; both the ironing board and the shirt displayed a large, blackened patch. Both were ruined.

He found himself sitting down. The stench of burned synthetic fabrics turned his stomach. His dad was jabbering, distressed. "Casey? I'll get some calamine..." He squatted down in front of Casey.

"It's burned," Casey muttered.

"Let me see." His dad touched the shirt he was wearing as though to remove it. Casey pushed him back as hard as he could. "But we need to look at it...." Casey noted that expressions were passing over his father's face as though time had slowed, as though he were watching a scene filmed by time-elapsed camera. Ice-hot waves were dashing themselves in his face, making the hair stand up all over his body. His father tried again: "Your arm, Casey."

"Dad?"

"Yeah, Casey?"

"Ruined it."

"It was an accident, son. You weren't paying attention and I smelled smoke...god, I'm sorry."

"Burned it—"

"We'll get a new one. Let me help you up here." Carefully, his dad got him standing. "Maybe we should go to emergency."

"No."

"It might need—"

"No!"

Casey tore away and ran out into his own bedroom, slamming the door behind him and praying that his dad wouldn't follow. Zeke would be here soon and he needed to be ready. He didn't have very many items of clothes, that shirt had been one of the few nice things he owned and the only thing he knew that Zeke liked. He began to go through his closet, looking for anything he could wear that would be acceptable. In the end he put on his long-sleeved Adidas shirt with the same jeans. It was a trifle heavy for this weather but it would have to do.

A knock. They entered without asking, and he tugged his shirt down while they moved closer, carefully stalking him.

"Casey," said his mom. "Why don't we just go to emergency? How could it hurt?" His dad was standing just behind her, his face red and sweaty.

"Don't want to," Casey said.

"You have a bad burn."

"It's okay, it's not serious."

"Are you a doctor? How do you know? At least let us look."

She was deep into his space now, the other behind her. Casey backed up until he hit the wall. All he could do was ask them, "Leave me alone, please."

They hovered, looking determined.

"I have to go," Casey stammered. "Delilah...birthday party...Zeke's waiting."

"It can't go on like this," his mother was muttering. "It just can't."

He pleaded, "Let me by. I need...I need the bathroom."

He didn't have to try too hard to look nauseous and it worked; they stepped aside as he brushed past. He locked the door and rolled up his sleeve. His arms were hideous, all-over bruised, and now the right one had a large shiny, red patch that was sprouting white blisters and tripling in pain every half second. He stuck that arm under the cold water tap. Again every hair on his body prickled as light-headedness swept through him, and he clung to the sink for a few seconds, waiting for his vision to clear. He opened the medicine cabinet next; a bit of a search led him to anti-biotic ointment and a half-finished bottled of Tylenol Threes in his mother's name. Ah, she'd had a bad sprain in her back last fall, he remembered her saying. He swallowed three of them and pocketed the rest.

He remembered to fix his hair.

He opened the door and pushed past his parents again, hoping that momentum would get him through. It did; he was down the stairs and at the door before they realized that he was leaving.

"Casey, don't go," his mother ordered.

"Casey—!" his father yelled.

 

There were times when you were in a bad mood and you knew it, but you just couldn't do anything about it.

Casey was sitting on the curb out in front of his house as Zeke drove up. Zeke half-noticed that Casey didn't look well at all but Casey never looked well and other things were on Zeke's mind, such as the fact that Casey's entire person screamed gay; it might as well have been tattooed on his forehead. He got in without a word and started his usual routine of staring out the window.

The silence was terrible.

Zeke pitched a question. "How is the therapy going, Casey?"

At Zeke's question Casey moved suddenly, putting his feet up on the seat like he wanted to hug them and then just as suddenly putting them down while he rocked once, twice...then he was still again.

"It's...fine," Casey said, almost completely inaudible. Zeke had to strain to hear.

"Who is it you're seeing? I'll bet I've heard of them."

Again a long pause with some sort of bodily twitchiness preceded the answer. "Donald," Casey replied in a low voice. "I'm seeing Donald."

"Donald?"

"That's...what he wants me to call him."

"And his last name?"

Casey turned to him without warning, presenting a drawn, unhappy face. "Windle," he said softly.

"Donald Windle. Never heard of him."

"He's new."

"Oh."

A few minutes later, Casey asked, "Can I hold your hand?"

He snapped, "I'm driving right now." Then it occurred to him that Casey had meant something else. "Or...at the party, you mean? Yeah, I guess..."

They had arrived, once again at that house that not too long ago had been Zeke's home. Cars filled the driveway and the street; Zeke had to park a couple of blocks away. Zeke hadn't thought it would be such a large group and it was that moment that the acid started to eat his stomach. These people were not authority figures to rebel against; the majority would be his peers — or worse, relatives of Delilah.

By silent agreement they stopped on the porch just outside the front door of the house, not ready to announce themselves just yet. Zeke would have admitted to being nervous, but Casey was very nearly wringing his hands in distress. Zeke felt the begrudging burden of having to calm him down, to keep the drama to minimum. Fuck, why had this ever seemed like a good idea? They could have stayed at home and done what they liked with no one to care.

"Zeke," Casey said.

"What?"

"You don't have to."

"I do," he returned without conviction.

"Zeke," Casey whispered, close to frantic.

"Calm down," Zeke hissed back. With a hand on Casey's shoulder he drew the smaller body over to his own and launched into a rather distracted kiss that he hoped would sedate Casey into acting like a normal person for a few hours.

The front door was opening....Zeke pushed Casey back so hard he staggered.

"Hi—!" Delilah's toothy smile faded as she took in the scene before her. "—Zeke," she finished in a tone of disgust. She turned something more benign on Casey, who had retrieved his balance. "Hello, Casey."

"H-hey, Delilah," Casey managed. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," she replied.

Delilah reached for Casey's arm and seemed truly taken aback when he evaded her. She threw Zeke a swift look and Zeke shrugged. For the first few moments he hardly been able to think; now it was just the pounding and the shaking. Chance had pushed him over this threshold. If it had happened to someone else he would have been intrigued, perhaps amused. In this case fate had stuck it to him personally, though, and he was resenting the hell out of it.

Delilah sought and this time captured Casey's left arm. Casey's other hand sought Zeke's. Zeke saw it coming in slow motion. It seemed like he had hours to think about what he would do about it.

He stepped sideways, neatly avoiding Casey's grasp, his face hot.

Casey was swept inside by Delilah. He cast one look back at Zeke that nailed Zeke right between the eyes. Anger boiled up and protected Zeke from the remorse he knew he should be feeling — but dammit what did Casey expect from him? Wasn't it enough that Delilah now had firsthand information to share around? Besides, nobody liked touchy-feeling couples who went around in public with their hands all over each other.

Delilah led them directly through the house into the back yard. It was strung with patio lanterns and crepe paper, and filled with people. One of them was Celia, and Zeke wondered despondently why he had not imagined she would be there. The next hour was a tedious symposium where Delilah dragged Casey from person to person forcing them to converse. Zeke found the large bowl of sangria and stayed near it, refilling his cup frequently and watching Casey through slitted eyes. The odd person approached him but he was not receptive to conversation and they figured it out quickly.

Celia, though, had been eying Zeke since he walked in and drifted near at the first opportunity. "So, Zeke," Celia began. Zeke could see she was already hammered.

Delilah appeared suddenly, her face white.

"Celia," Zeke responded cooly.

"I must admit I was actually surprised you left my daughter at the altar."

"Mother!" Delilah whispered.

"I didn't leave her at the altar," Zeke returned. "I left her a week before the wedding. There's a difference."

"So you had your fun and then it was on to the next thing?" Celia glanced over her shoulder, in Casey's direction. "Or maybe my daughter wasn't pretty enough for you?"

Zeke walked away from her.

Delilah caught up to him and whispered furiously, "What the hell's the matter with you?"

"You think I should stand around and listen to that?"

"No," Delilah answered, dropping her eyes. "I'm talking about you, with Casey."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Well, for a start what was that business on the porch all about? And how about the way you've been glaring at him since you got here? Have you noticed that he's going to drop any moment now?"

Zeke followed her head shake towards Casey, who was sitting in a lawn chair with some ex-cheerleader — whose name Zeke couldn't remember — hovering over him. Walter Selton, once a fellow team member and now a cashier at the Seven Eleven, was sitting adjacent holding a beer and holding forth on some topic that Zeke didn't care to know about. Casey was holding his head at a tilt that suggested polite interest but Zeke knew he wasn't hearing a word. And now even in the twilight it was quite evident that he was in pain. His face was beyond white, lines of tension drawn deeply on his face, and he was trembling visibly.

Right about then, the ex-cheerleader burst into gales of exaggerated laughter and slapped a hand on Casey's arm. Casey shot up and out of the chair with a strangled exclamation that drew every eye and ear.

"I`m sor-sorry," Casey stuttered into the awkward moment. "I d-don't feel well. I'm-I'm going t-to g-go."

Then his face went gray and Zeke knew he was going down aeons before it happened but still he didn't have time to do anything but watch as Casey very prettily swooned on the Delilah's nice green lawn.

"Holy shit," said Walter.

"Casey!" Delilah exclaimed. She got to Casey before anyone else.

Zeke was paralyzed for those initial, crucial seconds. By the time he got there Casey was already sitting up, blinking dazedly. He looked up and around and uttered the syllable, "Zeke?" in a tone that lacked only a white steed, rescue from a train track and riding off into the sunset. Zeke's face was burning again as he crouched down, putting an arm around Casey to help him.

"Should we call 9-1-1?" wondered Delilah.

"No," Zeke returned quickly. To Casey: "Let's go inside for a second."

"I'm-I feel sick—"

"The bathroom then—" Zeke hauled Casey to his feet. "Why does everything have to be a drama?" he whispered furiously.

He had some notion that his behaviour had been less than stellar these last few hours so it was just as well that he couldn't see Casey's face. Delilah joined them without a word and shoved Zeke aside, guiding Casey in his stead, past the curious faces and into the house.

Zeke closed the bathroom door behind them. He watched Delilah with her hand on Casey's shoulder as Casey knelt and heaved, bringing up nothing much; Delilah wet a towel with cool water and used it to swab Casey's sweaty face and neck; Delilah gave him a glass of water to drink; Delilah sat beside him on the floor. Not Zeke.

"Why'd you yell like that?" she asked Casey, reaching for the place that had triggered the outburst. He pulled his arm away. "Are you hurt?"

"Accident," Casey said with eyes closed.

Genuine worry floated to the surface of Zeke's emotional bog. "What sort of accident?" he demanded. He dropped to his haunches in front of Casey. "Your arm?" He made a similar motion as Delilah had.

Casey clutched the arm against himself. "Just — a burn. The iron got me." He tried to smile.

Zeke didn't bother to tease out an explanation. "How bad?"

He wanted to help now, truly. He thought to roll up Casey's sleeve but Casey was having none of it. It turned into a struggle, with him trying to grab at the fabric and Casey cringing away and folding his arms so that the ends of the sleeves were secured. Zeke resorted to grabbing Casey's shoulder and snapping, "Stop that, I want to take a look."

"It's—"

"Roll up your sleeve."

"But I—"

It occurred to Zeke that Casey was resisting their help more than he had resisted any single thing this summer and that thought gave him a nasty feeling. "Not negotiable, Casey. Either you do it, or I do it."

Like a person sentenced to execution, Casey did as he was told.

Delilah gasped. There was the burn and that was ugly enough, but there were also a ring of finger-sized bruises around the lower forearm, and a smattering further up, older and purply-yellow. Zeke had been thinking of Casey's brutish father, but knew there were other options to consider. He took Casey's wrist, carefully. "What is all this?"

Casey looked up at him and it was all there: shame, regret, and above all the justifiable fear that Zeke, in a few moments, was going to be parting from him.

"Casey—" Delilah tried to intervene.

"Delilah, leave us alone," Zeke interrupted.

"But Zeke—"

"Leave!" he yelled. His voice was a lot higher in pitch than he would have liked.

The snick of the latch signalled Delilah's departure. He didn't look, not taking his eyes from his wretched prisoner.

"Casey, take off your shirt."

The shame was drowned now in absolute terror. "No, please—"

"Do it now, or I'll rip it off."

Soon enough the entire nightmare was bared for his viewing pleasure. Casey's torso was branded with bruises of various ages and stages of healing. About his shoulders, stopping just where his shirt collar would not be able to cover, were a series of livid purple splotches and a latticework of bites. Zeke supposed there was more but he didn't care to see it.

He saw Casey's eyes starting to glaze and seized his left arm. He dragged Casey up against him and shook him. "Don't you dare fade out on me now!"

"Zeke...s-sorry-"

"Sorry? Sorry?!" Zeke laughed out loud. Sorry was very far from cutting it and Zeke had never been so inarticulate in all his life. "Who?" he growled, still holding Casey with his two hands. He was filled with a violence that was raggedly matched by his will, giving him only a fragile and unreliable restraint.

"Roy," Casey gasped.

"Roy? How?"

"H-he comes to t-town... Tuesday and Th-th-Thursday."

"Tuesday and Thursday. Like this afternoon when you — you couldn't go on the hike with me..." Zeke closed his eyes. For weeks he had been taking it slow, so certain he was doing The Right Thing, and Casey had been taking advantage of it to carry on with the same fucker that had brought them to this insane asylum that they were living in. "So," he ground out, eyes still closed. "I guess fucking is what sluts call therapy."

He opened his eyes and saw that Casey was trying to get his shirt back on. The expression on Casey's face suggested it might have been more merciful for Zeke to simply have taken a knife and stabbed him through the heart.

"Why?" Zeke pleaded.

There was no answer for him. Tears were falling steadily down a face that was vacant and empty yet somehow anguished. Casey drew himself up with a peculiar dignity. He whispered, "love you", then walked out of the room and out of the house.

 

Some time later Zeke found himself sitting down in a lawn chair holding a paper plate of food that he couldn't taste, ignoring the inane and disgusting verbalizations of people he hated while his mind could only replay, with larger-than life clarity and full surround sound, one of his life's true low points. He flashed back to the evidence of Casey's treachery in live technicolor, felt the fresh sting of betrayal, and spun one fantasy after another. The details differed but the outcome each time was himself fucking Casey into submission and Casey curling around him and swearing never to look at another human being as anything remotely like a sex object until his dying day.

Someone tapped his shoulder.

"Fuck off!" he growled.

"Jesus," breathed Delilah, who had received the brunt of his outburst. Since Zeke had very successfully isolated himself from his peers, there was no one in the immediately vicinity. Some of the guests were sitting in a cluster near the barbecue, occasionally giving him unfriendly looks; it appeared that others had moved inside or left. "Aren't you lucky I was here for you to explode at?"

"Piss off."

"Ooh, such a tough guy." Delilah folded her arms. "I want to talk to you."

"I said, piss off."

Rolling her eyes, Delilah said, "This is getting old real fast. Talk. Now."

He acceded to being drawn around to the front of the house. He pulled out a cigarette, looking forward to leaving the dead butt on her lawn. Stupidly, he took a quick look around for Casey but of course he was long gone.

"So...let me guess," Delilah started in without much warning. "Casey has been doing someone else."

Zeke whirled, half choking on his smoke. "Wha—?"

"Oh, give it up. Everyone in that house knows you're ga-ga over him — except you, apparently. I don't know what your game is."

"What's yours?" Zeke countered.

"Simple. Get your head out of your ass."

There was no point in pretending, it seemed.

"He's the one who fucked around on me!" Zeke exploded. "He's a fucking slut like you said — happy?"

"Zeke, grab a clue already!" Delilah looked truly angry, and on Casey's behalf it seemed. "You can't really be surprised. The question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Zeke flicked the remains of his smoke. It wasn't nearly as satisfying as he had hoped. "Nothing. Let him go play mistress if that's what he wants."

"Shut up and listen." There was an expression on Delilah's face he didn't remember having seen before. Odd. He had seen her scared, vulnerable, even kind, but this was something new. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone — and if you repeat it I swear I'll tear out your tongue with rusty pliers."

He had to smile at that, just a little.

"I was never unhappy with Casey," Delilah confessed.

He blinked. "Didn't you dump him?"

"Yeah, I did. But not because I didn't want to be with him."

"You said—"

"I said all kinds of crap that I wish I hadn't said now. I mean, yeah, his heart wasn't in it and he didn't know what he was doing, but he always wanted so much for me to enjoy myself that I did, in a weird way. I thought, all he needs is the right person...someone to bring him out of his shell..." Delilah cleared her throat. "But I wasn't that person. I could never have made him happy."

"So you dumped him."

"I know it sounds stupid."

"Not entirely."

"He was too much work...it made me nervous to tell the truth."

Zeke said nothing, quite astonished.

"The reason I'm telling you this, Zeke, is...I think you could make him happy. I'm pissed as hell because someone messed with him and now he's broken and...I want you to fix him."

If it was possible to be moved by a speech, he was. Standing in that new place he had no choice but to see everything from a different angle. The anger and betrayal were still around, but the terrible things he had said and done today leapt into the foreground.

"I've been trying to help him," he said, and couldn't not sound defensive.

"Try harder." The tone was stern but simultaneously Delilah laid a hand on his arm, her version of a comforting gesture.

Zeke stared at the street. "I have to find him."

"Yes, you do."

Not sure if it was wanted, he made a move towards her to kiss her. She accepted it with grace. Zeke threatened, "I'm going to make sure Casey knows what a good friend you are."

"Don't you dare—!"

"I won't tell him your big secret, I promise. Just that you stood up to me for him."

"Which takes considerable guts," she added sombrely, then smiled. "You don't face the wrath of Zeke for just anyone."

 

The door swung open and Roy had a pleased grin on his lips that was shaken off as he bore witness to the state that Casey was in.

Casey had walked to this room and this hotel surrounded by a black hole that sucked up all light, all warmth and feeling. He was that void, that pinprick of infinite heaviness; if anyone had noticed a Casey as they drove or walked by him, it had to be a ghost that they saw, carrying out his visitation to that stretch of road. Then as he reached Roy's floor the sound effects started, slow gulps wrenched up from the heaviest pit, accretions of sorrow circling his event horizon, unable to escape in any meaningful way. His mind was consumed by a soundless plea for help. He would have cast himself upon the mercy of anyone who looked halfway trustworthy — but of course no one was trustworthy. Everyone was alien, everyone. Even Roy, but he at least was a known quantity.

"Hey, what...?"

"...he...he..."

Roy opened his arms to receive Casey and staggered back when Casey all but fell into them. He sat heavily on the nearest bed, bringing Casey with him. Casey buried his face against Roy's chest, breathing in a scent and texture that was absolutely familiar. "Hold me in," he begged. "Hold me in."

He heard soothing noises, "It's okay, baby, I'm here...I'm here." Roy touched down to find the salt on his lips. Casey answered the kiss with his entire body, shuddering with need. He moved into it already anticipating the blissful unmindfulness that would soon overtake him, like a drunk at his first sip of the nectar. "You see," Roy said. "I told you."

Strange, but he knew better than to expect anything to make sense — until he heard the other voice and it made a terrible sense; Roy hadn't been speaking to him.

"Can't you calm him down?" A woman's voice like crisp white wine spritzer, that he had heard once or twice before.

He tried to lift his head but there was something pressing against it, muffling him, keeping him blind and gasping. An arm circled him, a ring of steel.

"No — no, Casey! Don't look, you must not look just yet." Roy's voice had become the only sensory input. He surrendered, lacking any further will to fight, going limp as his head was cradled against a dark silk shirt scented with Brut and male musk. "This is a good thing," Roy crooned. "It's what we've needed. Family. We can be a family, Casey. You, me...and Janice. I know you will look up in a little while and see what I need you to see — a friend, a lover...someone who loves you. Because she does, Casey. She loves you just like I do, and she wants us to go home with her." Roy's fingers were under his chin. "I want to go home, Casey. Are you — are you ready to look?"

Casey shook his head.

"This is never going to work," the crystalline voice said.

"Jan, you said you'd let me handle this."

"There's nothing to handle. Either he comes on my terms or not at all."

All around Casey, Roy's body was taut with displeasure. "You aren't helping, love."

"Fine. I'm going down to the hotel lounge for a little while...so you can 'handle' him."

The door opened and closed. Casey raised his head unobstructed and looked. There were two suitcases in the room. Two jackets hanging near the door, and a lingering hint of a woman's perfume.

"I called to say I would be a day late and she insisted on coming here," Roy said, sounding flustered. "She wanted to see you and she wants to be a part of this. You must understand..."

"Not her," Casey said. "Not her."

"You can't have me without her." Roy touched Casey's cheek tenderly. "I take it things are not going well with Zeke. I don't like to think of you alone, Casey, I really don't."

Casey pulled away, getting to his feet. "Don't want her."

"You'll learn to love her."

"No, Roy," he begged. "...no."

Roy's face floated towards him and then his hands bit into Casey's arms. Casey's mouth opened in a soundless scream as his injured right arm leapt into his consciousness again. Roy bore him down onto the bed, immobilizing him with sheer body weight. "You don't say no," came through teeth clenched and flattened against his cheek. "Not to me."

"Please, let me...."

"Please, what?"

"....let me up."

Roy shifted his hold but did not release Casey, breathing the words into Casey's mouth. "I know you too well, baby. A minute ago you were desperate for me to be this close to you. I know we can get back there, if I just...press the right buttons."

"Thought we were alone before," Casey whimpered.

"We were alone, Casey. And we will be. This is her way of having control...being the queen again. Just one time we need to do this and then she'll be content and we'll be on our own."

Bits and pieces of the words penetrated the mess in his head. He came to a realization; this was how he was taken over then. He had killed her and now she wanted revenge. This time, though, he was ready to just let it happen. The first time had taken too much out of him. He was exhausted with resisting, as pathetic a resistance as it was. Might as well stop and know that sublime belonging she had promised him...such a while ago now...

There was still Roy, nuzzling his throat. "Don't leave me, baby. I need you." He sat back, leaving Casey flattened on the bed. "I need you." He fingered the ragged edge of Casey's shirt...tugged at it, stretching it open. "I know you need me." He saw that Casey was still save for the shaking, offering no opposition. "Baby, why do you look like that? There's nothing to be afraid of...nothing we having done before."

"You want..."

"Yes, I want." Roy tugged him into a sitting position. "Lift..." He efficiently stripped Casey of the shirt, tossed it aside. His hands moved to Casey's zipper.

"Want her to have...to have me..."

"And why not?" Roy asked reasonably. He noticed the burn mark on Casey's arm. "What happened here?"

Casey's teeth were chattering so, he could barely speak. "It...sh-sh..she..."

"Mmm...we'll just have to be careful about that. And after I'll give you a nice bath and we'll put some lotion on it. Sound good?" Roy leaned over and began to work his way along Casey's shoulder with lips and tongue, tracing the collarbone. Casey caught a flash of an image of Zeke but it quickly turned into Zeke's face as he said sofuckingiswhatslutscalltherapy...

Something slimy and cold in his ear

them, it was them trying to get inside

and he propelled himself with a scream and his final measure of strength and saw himself standing in the middle of a freezing hotel room, half-naked, his pants undone.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" said—Roy, Roy that was his name. Roy.

"...that's...that's...how-th-they-get-y-you."

"What—?" Roy was openly baffled.

"How-how-they get inside."

Something happened to Roy's face. He couldn't interpret it. "Oh, baby. You're just such a mess. But we'll take care of you." Roy smirked as he got up to take him back, pushing down Casey's jeans and underwear. The arms bounded his naked trembling flesh, and hot breath hissed in his ear. "There are other ways to get inside, anyway."

He made a move in the direction of the door but it was tiny and pitiful and easily stopped by a hand and a mouth reminding him that he liked this, that it was really the only good thing he had. No, this was how they got you in the end, by making you want it, showing you by increments how pleasurable it really was, how he really wanted to empty himself for them to take possession. They took their time, years to train you and make you ready so that by the final time you barely needed to be told. You lie down and they even make you comfortable, softness under your knees and under your face as your entire body is encompassed by the other, pinned between the softness underneath and the hard flesh of the other above.

The first thrust exploded inside him, pain and pleasure spilling and coating and eating away what was left of him. Oh, but it was good, so warm, he was so completely within the other. He could not stop pushing back, opening for it, not satisfied with each new level of dissolution, pulling it hungrily within him until it should have been inhabiting him altogether, should have been wearing his skin.

But even this warmth could not remain, it trickled away from him. After it was done and he should not have had to discern his own existence he found he was again lonely, glacial, and he implored, "Why not...why didn't you...?"

"I don't understand...."

"You didn't take me."

"Um...I thought I did. I most definitely did, baby...fuck, you were incredible."

"But," he gasped.

"What?"

"...not enough...not done yet...still here." Tears were coming out of him and he couldn't feel the moisture on his frozen skin. "Just end it, why don't you end it...you can take me...please, I'm ready..."

Someone — Roy, yes that was the name — handled his flesh efficiently, tucking him naked up against his own nakedness, casually draping an arm around him while doing something with his other hand. Summoning the queen to them. "Jan...maybe you should come back upstairs...yeah, he's ready."

A click as the phone was put aside. One hand joined the other, gliding up and down, reminding him that this was not his body. He closed his eyes, wanting the hands stroking his skin, teasing lightly across his chest, dusting his nipples, his belly, and then down between his legs. He was quiescent, letting them explore and bring him to full arousal again.

"Oh, Casey," sighed Roy. "There'll never be anyone like you..."

The sound of the door announced her. He tensed and Roy continued to soothe him, playing with his body while holding him in place. He forced himself to lift his lids and watch her approach. Blond, slim, face set in lines of arrogance and control, she was just as ever, exactly as he remembered. She had taken off all her clothes and was approaching naked, just as before.

Roy pulled the covers back and nudged Casey to the middle of the bed.

"Lie down, baby," he urged, while the blond woman got in on the other side.

Despite his wish to have this be a sacred moment, they had to force him down. Arousal vanished, leaving only terror. He had tried to extinguish the last, frail glimmer of consciousness, to make way for her; he hoped she knew how he had tried, how diligently he had practiced his oblivion — but what he hadn't counted on was the obstinacy of his squalling self that refused to let go so he had to be conscious at the end. It kept and offered up the last of him to destroy as she liked.

"God, relax, baby," Roy pleaded with him. "You're like a block of ice." There was a hand that massaged his flesh, trying to bring something to life.

"I don't know about this," said a distant female voice.

"Just touch him, love and it will be fine. Here..."

Her hand now on his body where Roy's had been. It was good enough...he presented the final offering to them...no, not them, it...a thing with multiple arms and legs that enclosed and tangled about him. The creature turned him onto his front, ran damp tendrils down his back, tracing the line that led down to his body's opening, touching, then penetrating. He called out, flailing — a hand grasped his, pressed it against the small of his back. A wet orifice sucked at the back of his neck, and the tentacle pushed deeper inside him. He knew well how to let everything out of himself, to loosen and surrender, and he made it happen now, wanting only for it all to be done and over. And it kept moving, pressing inward and he gave himself to the first, tiny blossom of pleasure and with relief knew no more of himself.

 

Voices. His body lying face down. Alone in a wasteland of cold.

"I can't," she said.

He rolled over, slowly with his stiff, hurting body and saw two standing at the end of the bed, both naked, a man and a woman...Roy and Janice.

"We had an arrangement."

"And I'm sorry, but I can't stick to it, Roy! I just can't."

"You didn't give it a chance."

"I think we just did, as much as we could. Maybe if any of us wanted it this way it would help, but I don't want it, you don't really want it, and I sure as hell know he doesn't want it!"

"You could have just let us be, you know. It isn't like you didn't know where I was going on my little trips."

"But I wanted...I had to see for myself, you couldn't understand. I just thought I could handle this but I can't. Now I know that I'd rather see you pick up boys off the street!"

Casey didn't think he made a noise but he must have for they both suddenly looked at him, saw him being as small as he could on the bed.

"You should go," Janice informed him, not angry or unkind, just telling him. "Oh, Christ, I feel dirty." She grabbed Casey's jeans which were crumpled on the floor near her feet, and placed them on the bed. "Please get dressed."

He did as he was bid, fumbling with it. A bolt of pain shot through his arm, and another like a knife into his insides, originating from his ass. He struggled to get his zipper up. His entire body hurt, actually.

"No!" Roy burst out. "Janice, you're fucking everything up!"

"Everything is already fucked up, Roy. There are limits, you know? We may love you, but we have limits."

"Casey doesn't," Roy sneered. "Isn't that right, baby?"

Janice cried, "Well, I do! Either you walk out of this room right now and never see him again or I'll divorce you!"

Casey didn't bother trying to breathe, just stood beside the bed, trying not to be heard or seen.

Now Roy was leaving and it was quite a mundane affair. Shoes, socks, briefcase...phone. Persona reassembled, Roy turned back to his wife. "You'll never know me," he decreed. "You can have my body but that's all you get."

He marched out of the room without a word or a glance for Casey.

Janice's proud stance crumbled as she dissolved into tears, struggling to regain control. She clenched her fists and refused to sit down, collecting her things while Casey cowered in the space between the wall and the bed. He was half-turned to the wall with his face against it, examining the grain in the wallpaper, rubbing his fingers on it...distractions from the sound inside his chest, a sound that terrified him. He made himself preoccupied with holding it in.

He hadn't realized she was standing there until she touched him. Startled, he inadvertently let loose the noise in him and then he couldn't stop it. Janice jumped back, lingered for a moment as though she might speak or do something, and then in the wake of the unseemly keening noise that he was making, she fled.

 

Zeke's first stop, born of wishful thinking, was Casey's house; predictably, all he succeeded in doing was getting Casey's parents worried. Even Frank was displaying nothing but open concern for his son, which reinforced to Zeke that Casey must be found as soon as possible.

"He was hurt and he wasn't himself at all," mourned Allison. Zeke almost burst out in nervous laughter. "We wanted him to stay here — but he just ran out."

Because Zeke had been waiting. Worse even than that...he had been commanding, issuing orders and Casey jumped, didn't he, Zekie boy?

"I'm going to go look for him," Zeke announced. "Although I can't think of anyplace he would go in particular."

"Maybe your apartment?" Frank suggested.

"No, I don't think so." He didn't want to get into the reasons why Casey would suddenly shy away from the only refuge he had. Nor did he want to admit that he had refused Casey a key.

"I'm going to look for him, too," declared Frank. "I can't just sit here."

"I'll go," said Allison quickly.

"Mrs. Connor, why don't you stay here in case he shows up?" Zeke suggested.

"Okay...right."

Over the next two hours Zeke drove every street in Herrington — twice. Despite his initial evaluation of the probabilities, he also checked in front of his building a couple of times. It occurred to him that Casey might have phoned him at home so he went inside and sat down, thinking to have a brief rest and then resume the search.

An idea came. He looked up Sasha's number on his call display list.

"...'lo?"

"Sasha, this is Zeke Tyler."

A breath was taken and then Sasha cried, "Ohgodogod, tell me something didn't happen."

"No, at least I don't think..."

"You don't think?"

"Did Casey call you?"

"Tonight? No."

"Fuck."

"What the hell is going on?"

This morning that question would have brought about another stupid, self-interested internal rant, but Zeke answered it now without a thought. "Casey and I had a-a bit of a disagreement and he took off, and I haven't seen him since."

"You sound really worried," Sasha's voice came.

"Hell, yes, I'm worried! I'm afraid he's going to do something to-to hurt himself."

"You have to find him."

"I looked. I'm out of places to look."

"Look again."

"So he didn't call you then."

Sasha didn't answer right away. "He might have gone to Roy," he acknowledged suddenly.

Zeke fought down the emotions this name invoked. "But where? The bastard was already here today for his bi-weekly visit. He should be on his way home by now."

"His...visit?"

"Yeah, his visit. Casey took off because I found out that Roy has been coming here twice a week. Casey was lying to me....said he was seeing a therapist. Tuesdays and Thursdays."

"I'll fucking kill him."

"Roy or Casey?"

"Both of them — no, not Casey. I'm just going to.... fuck, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You didn't know, then."

"Of course not! I begged Casey not to give that creep the time of day but...aw, shit. I'm coming earlier. The day after tomorrow at the latest. Maybe tomorrow — I'll have to see if I can get someone to trade shifts with me."

Zeke found that he was relieved at the prospect. "Thank you."

"It's not for you."

"I know. But thank you anyway."

"Hold on. What if Casey's already here in Cincinnati, or on his way?"

"Casey doesn't have money for the train."

"Roy would send it to him."

"Look...I can only rule things out one at a time. If Roy were here, where would he be?"

"A hotel. The best in town."

"We don't have much here in the way of luxury. The Best Western is probably the most upscale." Zeke got up and grabbed his coat while securing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. "I'm going to check them all if I have to."

"I'm coming up there as soon as I can. If you find out anything, call me immediately. And Zeke?"

"Yeah."

"I know you're angry and you have every right to be. But try to understand. You don't have to condone, just understand."

"I'm not going to rip his head off, Sasha. Sorry, but I really have to run. I'll keep you posted."

Over the next three hours Zeke sprouted a thesis that hotel staff were stupid cattle without a glimmer of independent thought or reason. Not a one would claim to having seen Casey, although some of the Best Western staff remembered Zeke himself by name, and also that he owned a sports store and had once played football. Finally, he found someone who recalled Casey meeting "a gentleman" in the lobby a few times, but the guy couldn't remember how recently and absolutely refused to give out the gentleman's room number. Zeke could only come up with the name "Roy" and that wasn't a sufficient reassurance that a guest's privacy would not be violated. Zeke gave up at last in despair and convinced himself he would much prefer that Casey was in one of these rooms with Roy. As much as he hated the thought, it was preferable to some other possibilities, things he couldn't bring himself to envision.

He went home.

Despite everything he slept for a few hours, stretched out in the leather armchair. He was wakened by his cell phone. Apprehensive, he pulled it out and glanced at the display. Tyler's Sports Equipment, it read. He didn't want to hear it, whatever it was. He ignored the call — but five minutes later the store called again.

He punched the talk button. "Petra, I'm afraid I really don't—"

"Zeke, it's about your friend."

"What?"

"Casey, right?"

"Yes, what?"

"One of the waitresses at the Jam called me. She didn't know how else to reach you. Um...she said he's there and you might want to—"

Zeke slammed down the phone and ran. For the first time ever he was thankful for small towns and that Herrington was one of them.

  



	5. Chapter 5

Everything at the Jam looked normal to Zeke's frenzied eye. That wasn't right; somehow he expected to drive up to a building where his lover was probably in a state of complete and total meltdown and find it in flames. At the very least there should be a flashing marquee. But no, he was the panic, tearing up with squealing of tires and purpose distilled from pure terror all through his body. Erupting from the car he had time to observe that there were quite a few bystanders giving him the curious eye. He catapaulted himself through the front door, trying to take in everything at once.

He registered the typical assembly of regulars and newcomers. Waitresses were delivering food, like they tended to do in restaurants. As he skidded across the threshold a few customers turned their head in his direction--

"Zeke."

Anne was standing right in front of him; he had been looking so hard he hadn't seen her. With a nervous little gesture she indicated the men's bathroom. The cook, Evan, had been pressed into service as a bouncer and was standing solidly in front of the door, looking unhappy.

"In there?" Zeke inquired. "You're keeping him in there?" His mind immediately went to the many potential injuries that could be suffered...so many hard, slippery objects...just too many ways to dent a skull. Exactly how stupid are you people?! he wanted to scream but that wouldn't be very constructive, would it?

"Sorry, Zeke," Anne fumbled. "Sorry, but he looks bad and we didn't know what to do. Gary wanted to, um...to call the police."

The owner and manager of the restaurant, Gary was hovering with arms folded. "I still think–" he opined, exasperation dashed across his face and through his voice.

"Please don't," Zeke interrupted. "Just let me talk to him."

"He might need an ambulance," Gary insisted. "He's all banged up and he can hardly stand."

"I'd rather take him to the emergency myself," Zeke pleaded, aware that he was taking a considered risk. For all he knew Casey was dying in there.... "Then he didn't look seriously injured...I mean, he walked here, right?"

That was not the note he was trying to strike. Instead of being a calm, adult and persuasive Zeke, he was coming off as a desperate and wheedling Zeke.

"See for yourself," Gary said, lifting his hands in the universal gesture for passing the buck. There was also a hefty portion of disgust for some reason that Zeke was not looking forward to discovering.

Evan stood aside so Zeke could enter. Cold sweat blooming all over his body, Zeke pushed open the door. It was an older bathroom, the kind that never really looked clean. A tiny window, two stalls, a urinal and a sink. There was no pool of blood, no corpse in sight. Zeke let the door swing behind him. "Case? You here?"

Not a sound.

"Case?"

If he were in here, which he had to be, then there was really only a couple of places to look. Zeke knocked on both doors, one after the other. "You in there? Casey?" The first door creaked open to...no one. The second was locked. Ignoring his sense of the ridiculous, he bent down for a peek. He didn't see any feet on the floor.

"Casey, it's Zeke. Will you open the door for me?"

Nada.

He straightened up and leaned against the stall, thinking. His brain supplied several courses of action; he didn't like any of them particularly, especially if Casey was in there hiding from one or more monsters. Former days at Herrington High crowded Zeke's memory. How many times had he carried out his illicit transactions in that bathroom while Casey crouched just on the other side of the metal wall nursing his injuries?

He tried again.

"Please, Case. I don't want to...to do something you won't like." There was a tiny, agitated sound, the first indication of life on the other side, a reaction to Zeke's unintended threat. "I'm here to help this time. I promise..." But why should Casey believe that? The last time they spoke, Zeke had not acted much like a friend or lover. "I'm not angry with you, Case. I'm really not, I'm...I'm scared, actually."

He rubbed his forehead, out of words.

For too long he stood there coming to the realization that he didn't want that door to open. He didn't want to deal with whatever was behind it. But he was Zeke Tyler and that was what he did. He dealt.

He waited a slow count of three, then said, "I'm coming in."

Just then there was a tiny little sound, the noise that the latch made turning in its socket. Zeke wished he could consider it a gesture of trust. It was probably more like an attempt to ward off the spectre of Zeke worming his way under the door like a creature from some cheap horror-film assault. Taking in one long breath, Zeke pushed the door to the stall.

The metal hinges creaked, revealed human flesh compressed onto the toilet seat, feet and knees pulled up and arms hugging ankles. Somehow during the night he had lost his shirt, shoes and even socks; he was wearing only his jeans, and from the red etchings on his feet it appeared he had walked a ways. At some point he had fallen on his face. With a bloody patch on his forehead, a fresh collection of scrapes and scratches plus the previous catalogue of Roy-inflicted disfigurement and the burn on his arm, which was looking shiny and painful, Casey was a site of devastation.

Zeke knew not to move any closer; he remained standing just at the entrance to the stall. "Hey."

Casey hunched more, making himself impossibly small. There was nowhere for him to go, no escape from the intruding voice and looming shape. He was looking past Zeke, staring at open space with a piteous determination. His pupils were unfocussed and incoherent, straining to achieve some slight buffer between himself and whatever frightening alter-reality he was experiencing.

Zeke voiced his thought: "Aw, shit."

He was going to have to take Casey to the hospital, no question about it now and there would be no stopping the process that would unfold, unless he could somehow talk Casey out of this fugue. And what would be the point of that when there would always be more of them and Casey would be condemned to go on just as he had been, but even worse off than he had been? It had to be the hospital now, but maybe there would be a way to handle it.

Zeke tried to produce an unthreatening cadence with a vocal instrument that was all out of whack. "I'm really happy...happy I found you, Casey. Will you come out?"

Nothing, but he hadn't expected a reply. Normally in a crisis inspiration would come to him; this time he was coming up empty.

"Funny how we're always in the bathroom, huh, Case? This is hardly an improvement over Herrington High..." Stupid, he was not getting anywhere with that line. He studied his friend carefully, seeking evidence of a sentient mind. The presentation was all instinct, nothing but simple response to stimulae. The eyes were heavy-lidded and reddened. "Okay, how about this? I'm sorry. I was a complete and total prick."

It was subtle, it was barely noticeable, but something in Casey's posture answered, something went still even as shivers tore through his body and his eyes persisted somewhere over Zeke's shoulder.

"Yeah," Zeke went on hopefully. "You have every right to not speak to me...but all the same if you feel like saying something...I wouldn't object." He paused for breath and nerve. "I'm just going to sit down right here if that's all right with you."

The floor was damned hard, and rather cold, and he didn't want to consider its cleanliness.

"Delilah really gave me a piece of her mind after you left the party last night, Case. She made some good points. Like the fact that I've been a prick. It's hard to admit you've been a prick, you know that? Plus you know how I hate to lose an argument, especially with Delilah." Zeke squirmed and crossed his legs, trying to find a less uncomfortable position. "The thing is, I've been scared and everyone could see it except me. My mother even had it figured out. I do care what people think about me...but I'm trying to get over it, Case, I promise I am."

"Sz...Zeke?"

Zeke had never loved his own name, not until now. He launched himself up onto his knees. "You're speaking to me."

But not looking at him. "Thought they got you."

"They?"

Casey slurred, "The...Mary Beth...Gabe and–and–S-Stan–"

Zeke forced his expression into a peaceful mask. "They didn't get me, Case. You're safe."

It was Casey who had the luxury of tears in this whole scenario. His eyes were enormous, glittery. "But the–the–t-teachers and m-mom and d-dad... they got them...."

"Not me. You can trust me," Zeke crooned. He edged a little closer on his knees, stopping when he saw Casey's body tense up. "You're bleeding, Case. We need to get a doctor to look at that."

A tear rolled free and splashed on Casey's bare chest. His next words were mystifying: "She was going to take–take me--but it didn't work--and he left."

Zeke was all the way into the stall now. He bent one knee and rested an elbow there; with the other he dared to touch Casey's shoulder, more than half expecting him to freak out. He didn't, just peered at Zeke with an exhausted sort of wariness. It was then that Zeke's olfactory nerves provided him with the data he didn't want, the evidence of what Casey had been doing last night. The scent of sex was unmistakable. Zeke repressed a fierce urge to interrogate Casey about every minute that they had been apart, what had happened, and where, and with whom....no, he mustn't. Couldn't. As it was, he could barely bring himself to picture Casey with that man , if he brought that image into focus he would lose his mind and take off on some mad, rage-fuelled vendetta. "Case--"

Just on the other side of the wall someone in the kitchen dropped a dish; even at a distance the crash was apocalyptic. Casey cringed, his body trembling so violently he was at risk for falling off his perch. Zeke closed the space between them, unable to bear it. He put an arm completely around Casey's shoulders and shut away thoughts of unfinished business with a person who was imprinted on Casey's body.

"Casey," he said in a low voice. "Please don't–don't be afraid. I swear I'll do anything to make you feel safe. Please."

"Lef' m-me...."

It could have been meant for someone else, but Zeke went with it. "I know it seemed that way, but I'm not angry anymore, Casey. And you know...I may get angry sometimes but I don't want you to go anywhere either--" Bemused, Zeke heard his own voice break. He hadn't cried since he was twelve, not even when he was fourteen and broke his arm and he threw up it hurt so much, not when he was nineteen and aliens invaded his home town. He choked, "I never want you to...to leave...."

This was why he hated crying; it was too fucking hard to talk.

They were way out of any normal context, but what happened next had to be a fucking miracle: Casey moved infinitesimally and leaned into Zeke's shoulder. Zeke closed his leaking eyes and offered thanks. He didn't believe in anything like a god, he was projecting emotions of gratitude at the void or the clouds or some dimensional anomaly for all he knew. The tears, he let be. Hadn't scientists discovered that tears actually contained chemicals that were produced by stress and that tears were therefore a release of stress which was why the damned things just had to get out sometimes?

"Shouldn'..." Casey mumbled.

"Case?" Zeke swiped his free hand across his moist face.

"Shouldn' touch...s-so dirty..."

"Case..."

"Lied–to-to--S-Sash.." Casey's voice, which had been monotone and flat, began the final unravelling. He had succumbed to a dazed, exhausted flow of tears. "‘s mad...he's...hates...never f-forgive m-me..."

"Sasha's very worried about you, Case. He's coming to visit you, that's how much he doesn't forgive you." Zeke found renewed purpose. "If you're thinking that Sasha or I don't want you around... you're so wrong. You might be planning to–to leave us and I won't have that, Casey. I'm going to be watching you. If you try it I'll stop you, I swear it, and I'll kick your ass. I'll never let you leave me."

Zeke found that he was clutching Casey to him, not caring if Casey was getting the words as long as he was getting the message.

"You're going to get better, Casey. I promise, this time. I'm making it my mission and you know I don't fail."

He held Casey's slight body against his chest for a good long while before beginning the task of prying Casey out of the stall. It was slow and careful progress, steering him out of the diner with both arms around him. Casey alternated staggers with stiff, trembling little steps. The physical discomfort must have brought him halfway back to reality, for he showed awareness of the gawkers, hiding his face against Zeke as they passed them. Zeke sketched the faces for future reference. Anne followed them out, displaying what appeared to be honest concern and dismay, and Zeke made another mental note to send her some flowers. This scene could have been a lot uglier if not for her willingness to face down her boss.

Almost at the car, Casey's legs buckled; Zeke braced him firmly with an arm. He would not pick Casey up, he would not carry him. These people would see Casey walk to the car, just as he had walked out of the high school gymnasium after he saved their inconsequential lives. Still, it was necessary to help Casey fold himself into the car, coaxing him to bend at the middle and lifting his legs in for him. Zeke marched around to the other side, sparing a hostile glare for Jerry, a little self-indulgence.

He slipped the key into the ignition, carefully controlling the shakes. Okay, then. Guilt, get over in that corner. Jealousy...I don't even want to see you, get out of my sight. Wounded pride can stick around but only as long as he behaves himself. Anger...you have your uses. You will be channelled and unleashed as needed to achieve specific ends.

At Herrington General Emergency Department, Zeke began to be a bit more satisfied with his performance. One-handed, he interacted with the receptionist and took the forms that needed to be filled out while Casey was maintained within the circle of his left arm. He turned Casey around to put him in one of the waiting room chairs, and it was then that Casey's head jerked slightly and he apparently realized he was somewhere he didn't want to be. He tried to pull out of Zeke's hold and said querulously, "No."

Zeke propelled him forward with a close grip on his upper arm. "Sorry, Case."

"No," came the refrain, this time accompanied by short, panicky breaths. Casey was tugging mindlessly, and quite ineffectually.

Zeke released Casey suddenly, leaving his body swaying in place. He said, "You're welcome to try to leave. All I have to do is wait until you pass out, which shouldn't be very long at all."

He didn't exactly get the result he wanted. Casey did give up his frail opposition; he turned away from Zeke, stumbled to one of the plastic chairs and curled despondently in it leaving Zeke crushed by self-reproach. Casey behaved as though he had been betrayed, and Zeke wasn't so sure that he hadn't been. Not that there was any choice about it. They were both fucked; Casey needed professional care and Zeke's head was already buzzing with strategies to prevent certain outcomes that were nearly unavoidable now. What price would the citizens of Herrington exact as penance when Casey admitted himself as the lunatic they had always suspected and wanted him to be?

It was not a busy morning in the Emergency Department, and at least half of the medical personnel had recognized Casey and Zeke. After a short wait they were shown into an examination room. It was intended for several patients although privacy could be obtained by pulling a curtain around the bed. There was only one other person in the room, a derelict whom Zeke didn't remember seeing around town before. The guy was unconscious, so privacy wasn't really an issue.

Zeke and a nurse assisted Casey to lie down on another of the beds, propping him up on an incline. He had not made a sound since his last, feeble protest; Zeke witnessed the vigilance of an injured animal trying to keep everything in view and failing completely.

"Here's a gown," the nurse said. Casey's eyes flickered but did not quite see her, nor did he make any move to take the item. The woman placed it on the end of the bed. "I'll leave it here and you can get changed." She appealed silently to Zeke.

He nodded. "I'll help."

Unexpectedly she wondered out loud, "Do you remember me, Zeke?"

He looked at her, truly for the first time since she had come to escort them to this room. It was Shirley Dubois' mom, Shirley Dubois whom he had known since kindergarten. Mrs. Dubois. She had come to their class on more than one career day to talk about being a nurse, and also shown up on days when they needed parent volunteers so hers was a face that had been with him, peculiarly, his entire life.

"Oh, sure," he answered. Pretty lame, but that was what happened to people in these situations. Grasping for something else to say, he added, "Thank you."

She offered what struck Zeke as a rather phony smile, then turned to address Casey officially. "The doctor will come very shortly." Smooth words but her eyes stuttered, surveying a battalion of bruises and bites.

Once she was out of the room Zeke leaned over Casey and said softly, "Shall we put on their stupid gown?" He grabbed the blue-green cotton, shook it out. "I don't see the purpose except to make you feel more vulnerable than you already are...which way does this damn thing go now?"

He was anxious to avoid meeting Casey's gaze, but those eyes were capable of hitting moving targets with ease, even involuntarily. The blank stare inevitably caught Zeke as he feinted and dodged and evaded; he sagged against the bed with a fatalistic sense of where this whole scenario was going. He touched Casey's hand and appealed in silence for absolution. Maybe not now, but some day, some point down the road...

Big inhale. Pull it together, Tyler.

"Okay, let's wrap this up, Case. Here, you can put it on first then just slip your jeans–your jeans off...turn this way, that's it."

With Casey ‘s minimal help they got the gown on him and tied in the back. The next step was harder, getting the filthy jeans off. Zeke urged Casey to stand and waited for him to take matters into his own...feet. He didn't, so Zeke was forced to the act of undressing him.

"You know," he muttered, sliding his hands up under the gown to find the button and zipper. "This is ridiculous. You'd think you could help. I tell you what...I'm going to turn my back and let you finish." He turned, listened, heard the sound of denim scraping over skin. "Okay? I'm turning around now."

He found Casey standing there with jeans puddled on the floor around his ankles. He was looking dully at the floor several feet in front of him.

"Case?" Zeke put a hand on his arm and guided him to step out of the jeans; wavering, he lost his balance, tilting sideways, and Zeke grabbed him, helped him get situated back on the bed.

Zeke didn't know why, but it felt necessary: he leaned over and pressed his lips to Casey's face, kissing the side of his mouth very softly. Unexpectedly Casey fixated on him with huge eyes only inches from his, his body quieting as it had not done since the moment Zeke discovered him in that bathroom stall. Disconcerted, Zeke nevertheless grabbed at the opportunity to make some sort of difference to him; he ran the back of his hand up Casey's cheek and whispered, "It's going to be okay."

A mature, male voice interrupted. "Good morning, I'm..."

Zeke took his time moving aside. He noted a sixtyish white man in a coat.

"I'm Dr. Farrand," the man finished with only a slight hesitation at finding two males in an intimate pose. His gaze was professional, cool, no hint of distaste but Zeke felt it like a shout.

"I'm Zeke Tyler," he stated, figuring this man was going to get to know him, and quickly.

"You brought him in?"

"Yes, I'm his friend."

"Mmm..." Dr. Farrand surveyed his patient. He moved in, not hurried but casually requiring Zeke to reposition himself. "Casey? What seems to be the problem?"

The doctor's eyebrows raised slightly when time passed without a response. He went on with a simple exam, surveying the external damage. His touch, Zeke noted, was impersonal but gentle. "Looks like you've got a second degree burn here. Quite a few minor contusions...I'll ask Nurse Dubois to get you all cleaned up and bandaged, and an analgesic should take the edge off." He gave a smile that was not really needed since Casey appeared to have tuned to another station. "The burn should heal up fine with regular cleaning, bandaging and an antibiotic ointment."

"Thank you," Zeke said, and very pointedly held Casey's hand.

Dr. Farrand directed a dry, displeased look to him. "Mr. Tyler, could you leave for a few minutes, please?"

"What? Why?"

"Mr. Tyler...Zeke...Casey is entitled to his privacy."

"What are you going to do?" Zeke had a vague sense that he was not being entirely sensible.

"This will only take a moment."

It seemed to Zeke that Casey was returning the pressure on his hand just enough to get his attention. "He wants me to stay," Zeke protested.

"Very well, Zeke. Casey...I'm going to need to do a rectal exam, all right–"

"The hell you are!"

"Mr. Tyler, this is precisely why I'd rather you weren't here. But I accept that Casey wants you here so I must ask you to be quiet. This won't take long and if there's nothing wrong it should not be painful." Farrand snapped on a set of gloves.

"You're only doing this because you think he's gay," Zeke contended.

Farrand turned to him and said, very calmly, "No, Mr. Tyler. I'm doing it because I see evidence of sexual assault and if I were you I would think again before impeding this any further."

Zeke closed his mouth and digested the realization that Farrand thought it was him, that he had put those bruises on Casey, that he had burned him, had pushed him down so he hit his head, that he raped –.

That Casey had been raped--a possibility that Zeke had not actually considered. He had assumed that whatever had happened had been consensual, or at least consensual as the law understood it. Never before had Zeke been forced to process such a craven sensation as now...the urge to run away, to flee. He had to make himself stand there and hold Casey's hand and remain impassive at Casey's vacant obedience to the doctor's instructions. It was quick; Zeke saw a twist of pain across Casey's face even so. Farrand removed his hands and peeled off his gloves with a snap and a grunt, then scribbled on his clipboard for a while.

"Well?" Zeke demanded when he couldn't bear it any longer.

"Mr. Tyler, I'm sure you've heard of things like doctor-patient confidentiality." Farrand strode casually to the door, walked out and began to chat with Nurse Dubois.

Zeke performed a quick visual check on Casey and pursued the doctor. He didn't want to leave Casey alone, truly, but things were already reeling out of his control. He had to get on top of this somehow.

"...IV bolus....and please page Dr. Hoffman for a consult."

The nurse moved off to comply and Farrand began to walk away. Zeke caught up to him.

"Please. I know you have no reason to believe me but I swear to you I did not –I was not the one who did that to him. I just...I need to know what's going on."

Perhaps there was a subtle change in the man's face. "Okay. This is what I can tell you. Apart from the burn and the contusions, he is quite dehydrated and malnourished so I've admitted him for observation and a course of IV fluids. And I've called for a psychiatric consultation for reasons which I'm sure are obvious to you."

Zeke couldn't find the words to argue; as much as he feared the outcome he knew that psychiatric intervention was more than appropriate. "Is that really necessary?" was the best he could do.

"The consult? Mr. Tyler, your...friend...clearly needs help, and I have to tell you that I'm ordering a 72 hour involuntary assessment period."

"You don't need to do that, I can take care of him–"

"Zeke," interrupted the physician. "You must be realistic. You can't handle this alone and if you've been trying to up until now then you should be well aware of that fact. Now, I can see that you sincerely want to help, and you can, by sticking around to talk to Dr. Hoffman."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"That's fine. In cases like this it's important to talk to the family and friends, to get as accurate a picture as possible. His parents live in town, don't they?"

Oh, hell....he had completely forgotten..."I'll call them."

"Excellent." Farrand's face was not what he'd call friendly, but the temperature had edged up a notch. He made a move to go, to move on to another patient.

Zeke blurted, "What about the...?"

Farrand considered him at length. Finally he said, "You're off the hook, Mr. Tyler."

Standing in the hallway, Zeke repeated those words to himself. They had an unpleasant taste. Off the hook for not paying attention and not finding a way to prevent this cheap, Monday-Night-TV-Movie scenario? For being a coward? Or for making it easier for Roy to exploit Casey? Which of these was he off the hook for?

He now had to contend with the unpleasant chore of calling Casey's parents–unpleasant mostly because once they knew where Casey was they would show up much sooner than Zeke wanted them to. And then there was Sasha, who could be waiting at the train station at this very moment.

There was a payphone in the waiting room. Procrastinating, he called his voice mail first. There was twenty-two messages left last night, eight of which were Sasha in various modes of panic.

"Zeke, have you found him yet? Call me back."

"Hi, it's Sasha again. Any luck? Call me back."

"Hi...okay, I'm getting just a little bit frantic here. I'm begging...call me soon."

"Zeke, I need to hear from you."

"Zeke. My hysteria continues. You have the power to stop it, okay?"

"It's official. I'm losing my mind. I'm thinking that you've found him and you're really busy talking things through, or...something terrible has happened. Whatever it is, just tell me."

"Okay. Maybe you just haven't been able to get to your phone. I have to assume things are going to work out. I'm waiting for my boss to call me back and let me know if I can leave a day earlier, I'll leave another message."

"Well, I'm on my way tomorrow. God, please call me if you know anything. And if you do get this message, I could use a pick up at the train station in Herrington. I arrive at 10:45 a.m. tomorrow. If I don't hear anything I'll find a cab and a hotel. Anyway, I hope we'll get to meet in person tomorrow."

There were also numerous messages from Casey's parents. Zeke had to concede that Frank Connor was giving indications of being a human being; everything else aside, he did seem to care for his son. Zeke figured he owed it to the Connors to call and let them know that Casey was alive–and as much as Zeke preferred to think he was Casey's primary support, he did accept that Casey probably would want his folks around for the long haul. So Zeke called them, and endured the predictable outbursts. He informed them that Casey had been admitted to the hospital and that there was a possibility of a longer stay but did not mention the psychiatrist. He would break that one to them when they came through those doors in person, which would be shortly.

His next task was to call Sasha and put his mind at ease–but he then observed a tall man exiting the examination room where Casey was resting. Zeke hurried to catch him. "Hey..."

The man turned around. Dark, curly-haired and bearded, he bore a bit of a resemblance to Abraham Lincoln. He was even taller than he had seemed at a distance. "Are you Casey's friend?" he asked. He owned a deep, mellifluous voice, quite professionally appropriate.

"Yes, I came in with him. Zeke Tyler."

"Ah, good, I was just going to look for you. I'm Dr. Hoffman. Can we talk for a few minutes?"

Zeke glanced at the door the doctor had just come through.

"Casey will be asleep soon if he isn't already," Hoffman said reassuringly.

"He isn't asleep, though?"

"His eyes were at half-mast just a minute ago. It's all right..." Hoffman presented a comforting smile to accompany the voice. "He's comfortable and we won't go very far...there's a small meeting room down the hall, how about that?"

"Okay," Zeke acceded reluctantly, still looking at the door.

"You can take a quick look if it makes you feel better."

Reason and logic being on the backburner, it did help. Casey was indeed asleep, hooked up by IV to several bags filled with clear liquid, his right hand lying limp at his side. The gown he was wearing was short-sleeved, so Zeke could see that someone had cleaned and bandaged his burn, and presumably tended to his other hurts as well. There were a couple of blankets covering the rest of him–so he was warm, which was important. Altogether satisfactory if not awe-inspiring; Zeke accepted that he could leave Casey alone for the time being.

Hoffman ushered Zeke into the meeting room and waited for him to sit. Without any warning, reason and logic fizzled and he was all about his emotions. Annoyed at himself, he sat on his hands, denying his inner turbulence. This was no time to get flaky; he had to be–how'd it go?--calm, adult, persuasive, charming if at all possible.

"My name is Dr. Hoffman," the man began. "I was asked by Dr. Farrand to consult on Casey's situation. I take it you're a good friend of his?"

"Yes," Zeke said, and heard his voice quaver.

"Can I ask you a few questions?"

"Yes." Ah, he sounded steadier now.

"How has Casey been lately?"

"Let's see...he doesn't eat, sleeps all day, barely talks and cries a helluva lot. Your basic definition of depression."

"I see you have some knowledge of the disease."

"I read a lot."

"Then I'm sure you know what's going on here, Zeke. I've been asked to determine whether Casey meets the criteria for a three-day involuntary hold. Dr. Farrand thinks he does, and I have to tell you up front that I agree with him based solely on what I've seen in the last ten minutes."

"You talked to Casey?"

"No, he didn't speak to me, but I saw enough to conclude that it is in Casey's best interest. He is decompensated to the point that if he is not hospitalized he will very likely get hurt–even more hurt than he is now. Physically, he's in pretty rough shape. I would guess he stopped eating and drinking a few days ago. The 72 hours gives us a chance to get him hydrated and start pumping some nutrients into him, for a start. I would like to know more, though, which is where you come in, Zeke."

"I want to help," Zeke said, as noncommittal as he could be.

"You aren't opposed to this then."

"Would it matter?"

"Not unless you had his power of attorney. Casey is legally in our custody for the next three days. As he has reached his age of majority he could fight it himself but it's unlikely that he would be successful, and certainly unlikely that he could initiate and resolve any legal proceedings within that time."

In other words, there was no way out. If they had been anywhere but in Herrington, Zeke would have signed the committal order himself–not cheerful about it, but he knew that for Casey this had gone far beyond healing with hugs. "His parents should be hearing this too."

"I'll explain it to them. I'm afraid I'm making this sound scary but it's not, Zeke. I'm sure that you've been very worried about Casey, and the purpose of these three days is to see what we can do to help."

"But you're also going to decide if you want to keep him in."

"I won't lie to you, Zeke. I don't think three days will be enough. While he is in the hospital he will be assessed by the doctors and nurses there–and they will no doubt interview you and his family as well. The ideal scenario would be for him to decide to stay voluntarily–but let's cross that bridge when we come to it." Hoffman wrote some things down on his clipboard. "Have you observed Casey try to hurt himself, or say that he was going to hurt himself?"

"Er...not the way you mean."

"Can you expand on that?"

"Well, you're right that he hasn't been taking care of himself. He barely eats...he's been letting himself get hurt."

"I see." Another note was made. "So he's been pretty withdrawn?"

"Yeah." Zeke chewed on his lip, trying to decide how much to tell the man and concluding that whatever he held back they would find out anyway. "He dissociates all the time."

The dark eyes pinned Zeke. "You know that term?"

"I wanted to understand what was happening, so yeah...I was curious and I read up."

"Hmm." Zeke waited for the psychiatrist to ask him why he hadn't gotten Casey some help sooner since he had so much insight into his situation–but the question didn't come. "When does it happen, the dissociating?"

They were rapidly approaching the sticking point. "You have to understand that a lot of crappy things have happened to him, all the way back to high school. He got bullied a lot and...there was some other stuff," Zeke ventured, dropping the bait.

The man did not so much as nibble. Either he didn't know about Casey's history or he didn't care. "Like what?"

"Bad stuff."

"I get the feeling there's something else you want to tell me."

"No."

"Well, that's your call. Of course you will probably get a chance to talk more with the doctors in the hospital and they will want to get into a bit more detail. My concern right now is protecting Casey from himself."

Hoffman rose to his feet and so did Zeke.

"What happens now?" Zeke asked.

"He'll be transferred to Whitby Psychiatric Hospital. It's only an hour from here and you'll be able to visit. Are his parents around?"

"Yes, they should be here any minute now. I...I could explain it to them if you want."

"I don't expect that of you, Zeke. Whether or not they are his legal guardians I consider it my responsibility to help them to understand."

Hoffman offered a hand shake. Zeke accepted it, feeling obscurely like he had just sold Casey to him.

They walked back to Casey's room and found that his parents had arrived. They were standing both on one side of Casey's bed, watching forlornly as he slept. Frank Connor saw Zeke first, and Zeke was taken aback by the expression of parental remorse and misery he found looking back at him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Connor? I'm Dr. Hoffman..."

The psychiatrist took them away for a chat. Zeke planted himself in the visitor's chair beside Casey. He figured it was time to get to work on his magnum opus, a piece titled "Self-Recrimination", and he did get off to an energetic start. The next thing he was aware of, though, was blinking sleepily and lifting his head off the back of the chair. It was Casey's parents entering the room that had startled him from his exhausted doze. A glance at his watch told him he had nodded off for about a half an hour.

"I need to talk to you." The voice of Frank Connor was much too loud for a hospital room. Zeke looked anxiously over at Casey, but he only stirred a little, his sleep barely disturbed. They had probably given him a little something special in the IV, Zeke realized. "Privately," added Casey's father.

Zeke traded a look with Allison Connor; she looked down and away. "Okay," he replied, keeping his voice as polite as possible, not because he gave a damn but because he gave a damn about Casey. "I could use a smoke. Did they say when they would be transferring him?"

The father's mouth tightened; the mother looked teary and replied, "The doctor–Hoffman–he told us an orderly would come and get him ready in a little while, once they've found a bed for him...at that other place."

They ended up going out of the hospital, to the ambulance bay. Zeke found a rail to lean against. It was a relief to find that it was still just any other day outside the hospital–still summer, still hot. The air was limp and stifling, but hung with a muggy glow that seemed partly constituted by nostalgia...summers past as a child, riding bicycles, getting skinned knees. That was when everything felt okay; how old would he have been then? Certainly no older than ten. Yep, this was one of those moments when lighting a cigarette felt truly meaningful--a fuck-you to all that was decent. "What did you want to talk about?" he wondered, when Connor didn't seem to know how to start.

Without qualifiers, Casey's father demanded, "What happened?"

There was accusation there. Zeke dampened the flare of guilt and replied, "When exactly?"

"Last night, for a start."

Zeke was not about to share any details of his and Casey's relationship, nor was he going to describe to Frank Connor how his son had been so desperate to feel something real that he had let himself become a sex toy for a sadist. "I don't know. He didn't tell me."

"But the doctor must have."

"No. They have this whole confidentiality thing, you know."

The face of Frank Connor was getting increasingly red, Zeke noted with an absent fascination. Was that a sign of an impending aneurysm by any chance? "I just...can't..." sputtered Casey's father. "I don't know how this happened."

Zeke decided not to comment. The line left too many openings, and as helpless as he was in this situation the one thing he could do would be to minimize any strife between himself and the Connors.

"What I want to say to you..." Frank cleared his throat. "It's...we don't want you to say anything to any of these doctors about...that business in high school."

Zeke sucked back on his cigarette and blew a long plume of smoke out his mouth and nose. "Which business is that?" he said with what he thought was admirable calm.

"You know...the alien thing."

"The alien thing," he echoed.

Frank dropped his voice. "I don't want them to lock him up." His fear was real, to all appearances. "I'm just praying that Casey doesn't say anything about it."

The first wave of anger had passed; Zeke had similar fears after all. "Did you ever believe it happened like we said?" he asked, truly curious. He was beginning to develop a theory that those who had been taken over–which had to be everyone in town–had this amnesia about it caused by neurological shock, or some other equally mundane scientific explanation. For them the control had been complete, the trauma relatively minor. The problem after it was all over was five students who insisted on telling their perplexing little account of alien invasion to the world, and one of them in particular who went from outcast to hero and then back to outcast. They needed an accounting, they needed to reconcile it, and now they had their scapegoat in Casey.

With folded arms the older man replied scornfully, "Of course not."

"But you were there. They had you, didn't they?"

"For Christ's sake!" Frank grabbed Zeke's arm and Zeke let him get away with it. "That's just the kind of stuff I'm talking about."

Zeke casually removed himself from the man's hold. "Look," he said. "This is pointless. Everyone here knows about it and has their opinions. If it makes you feel better, I have no intention of bringing it up–for the time being. But I will have to say something at some point because there's really no way to escape the fact that it happened."

"Something happened," Frank argued. "Something sure happened to him, but not aliens for Christ's sake. If you just leave it alone Casey still has plenty of problems left. He should put that whole alien business behind him, whatever it was. I don't want to think about it, I just want to see him get better." Frank Connor sighed. "It was that man, that Roy. Casey just has to get over him."

The ignorance, the sheer, brutal simple-mindedness of this speech left Zeke breathless–but it raised a very authentic conundrum. Was it possible, and was it even advisable, for Casey to put aside everything having to do with aliens and cope with the rest of his life? Zeke feared that the alien business was all through everything about Casey, woven around his soul and his brain so intricately that it couldn't be extracted without killing the host.

In either case, arguing about it with Frank Connor was a waste of atoms. Zeke finished his smoke and said, "Well, I agree that he has to get over Roy."

This seemed to satisfy Casey's father. He sighed quite obviously.

"Mr. Connor? I don't want to offend you– Case, if you needed any proof that I care... "–but are you okay with the cost of this? I could help if...if you needed me to."

Not unexpectedly, Frank Connor puffed up a bit. "I can take care of my son. I have insurance. He's covered as long as he's in school."

"I was just asking."

"What are you...rich?"

"Kinda, yes. My father is a tax lawyer, you know." Jacob Tyler had an abacus for a heart, but he did know how to raise a child to be fiscally secure.

"Oh...right. I remember that. And you would pay Casey's hospital bills?"

Why had it never occurred to him that this was the way to win over the parents? Not that it was Zeke's priority. "Hospital bills, tuition, whatever he needed."

"Why would you do that?" asked Connor. Not exactly suspicious, but not entirely trusting his motives either.

"Because he's my best friend."

Casey's father's eyes narrowed. "Not just friends, though."

"No," Zeke replied calmly. "Not just friends."

He saw questions and accusations and little petty comments bubbling just below the surface but Connor did not release any of them. He was trying, just like Zeke was trying.

When Zeke got back to the examination room he found Mrs. Connor standing outside in the hall, and he could see through the small window set in the door to the room that Dr. Hoffman was in there, talking to Casey. Casey's eyes were pointed in the shrink's direction but other than that there was no indication that Casey was actually hearing him.

They did not have to wait in the hall very long. Hoffman came out and shook his head once, regretfully. "I told him what is happening, where he's going. That's all I can do."

"Will you be at the hospital?" asked Mrs. Connor.

Hoffman smiled. "I'm sorry, no. I have a practice in Herrington and I consult at this hospital but I only go to Whitby if one of my patients goes there. But don't worry, Mrs. Connor. It isn't like in the movies. It's an excellent facility...clean, new and the doctors and nurses are very caring. He'll be in good hands."

Zeke poked his head in the open door as the others were speaking. Casey was lying on his side facing the door now, his knees pulled up and his hands curled against his chest. It was such a quintessentially Casey posture that Zeke felt an ache in his throat. Casey was still there even if Casey himself didn't know it.

"Hey, you're awake," Zeke said brightly, and winced at himself. He came into the room. Casey's gaze did not shift at all. Zeke considered Casey's hands, how he might be received if he tried to hold one. Tentatively he came to it, extending his own hand and stroking along the side of Casey's left as it was the most accessible. "Can I hold your hand?" he asked, hoping it might trigger something.

Just when he was sure that nothing was going to happen, Casey's hand moved slightly, curved around his just the tiniest bit. Zeke sat down in the nearest chair, morphing the touch into a firm grasp. He started to talk.

"I suppose the doctor just told you...the news. I don't want you to worry, Casey. Just think of it like a long weekend in the country, a chance to get rested and, er...I'm going to pick up Sasha at the train station later and we'll come and see you first thing." He realized that the Connors were standing behind him, hearing every word, watching him. Pointedly he lifted Casey's hand and kissed the back of it. "So we'll be visiting later today, and tomorrow and–you get the picture." He held Casey's hand some more, not wanting to let go until Casey gave some indication that he saw him or heard him.

Nurse Dubois came bustling into the room just then with a clean pair of sweats and a t-shirt from the lost and found, wanting Casey to get dressed. She politely asked the rest of them to leave and pulled the curtain. Zeke and the Connors stood out in the hall and didn't look at each other. Then the curtain was pulled back and Casey was sitting on the side of the bed, still rigged to the IV, wearing clothes that were much too big for him. His head was hanging, eyes surveying the distance. An orderly whizzed in pushing the wheelchair that was to deliver Casey to the ambulance and thence to Whitby. The man was huge, but very gentle. Even so, letting him take Casey was one of the hardest things Zeke had ever done.

 

Suddenly Zeke had nothing to do. It seemed like he should follow the ambulance out to Whitby and then trail behind as the staff got Casey settled and processed, but that was ridiculous and fairly pointless. So he drove around town for a while. He dropped in at the bookstore and picked up several books–two for himself on depression and post-traumatic stress, and a few he thought Casey might like when he was up to it. The American Film Institute's Top 100 and another book by Roger Ebert that was more anecdotal, about Hollywood culture. He stopped for lunch–not the Jam, he wasn't feeling ready to go back just yet--and called Delilah to fill her in. Five of the twenty-two messages had been from her. Not surprisingly, she wanted to visit Casey right away but he convinced her to wait a day or so.

He spent a terrible afternoon. Despite Hoffman's reassuring words, every bad movie image of mental hospitals and Nurse Ratcheds foamed and frothed in his mind. He imagined that while he was lying back at home being bored, Casey was being strapped down on a bed, screaming for him, plugged with some horrible drug that would take away all hope for the return of his own, original self while his screams were lost to uncaring or sadistic institutional ears. Or something not so farfetched–at this very moment doctors were diagnosing Casey as psychotic or schizophrenic and getting the legal papers ready to make the hospital his home indefinitely. This despite Zeke's well-informed and rational mind that had a reasonable degree of faith in the good intentions of the psychiatric profession. He knew that in this day and age people were not branded as schizophrenic because of one silly, harmless little hallucination when they were sixteen–right?

The recriminations that had been held at bay by sheer exhaustion were now crowding in. Every moment--since he had walked into Casey's bedroom a month ago and saw that things had gone terribly wrong for Casey over the past two years--was being replayed and analyzed. He thought of a hundred thousand things he could have said or done but hadn't. Then that wasn't enough; he went back to high school, the aliens and even before that. Maybe it would have been sufficient if, just once, he had got in between Gabe's fist and Casey's face.

The appointed hour to pick up Sasha from the train station came not a moment too soon.

 

"Fuck me, it's hot!" were Sasha's first words to Zeke, who hadn't expected this tall, elegant man with an almost aristocratic face, wearing designer jeans and a shirt that despite the heat still looked freshly pressed. At least the guy was sweating; it was still ninety despite being the dinner hour. In fact, the thought of eating anything except watermelon or popsicles was close to nauseating. Sasha moaned unhappily as he got into the stifling car with its black interior.

"I told Casey we'd run out to the hospital to see him as soon as you got in," Zeke stated. "Is that all right with you?"

"More than," sighed Sasha.

"I should warn you...it's a psych hospital."

"Oh," said Sasha heavily after a bit of a lengthy pause.

"There was no way around it," Zeke began to explain.

"No, don't. I mean...I understand." Sasha massaged his neck for a bit. "He told me he was tired," he said finally. "The last time I talked with him. He must have said it four times. What did he do? How badly was he hurt?"

"Scratches and scrapes. Nothing major. Overall he's just kind of debilitated so they've got him on an IV."

Sasha said, surprised, "He didn't try to kill himself?"

"Well...no. Not as far as anyone knows."

"I was sure he was going to, and that was why..."

"No," Zeke repeated firmly.

"Was he with Roy...shit, is it still only last night?"

"I don't know...I think so. He was definitely with someone."

Now that the first tidbits of necessary information had been exchanged they sank into a silence that got deeper every second. Fifteen minutes into the drive, and Zeke was counting the highway markers.

"Well," said Sasha abruptly. "You aren't what I expected. I really expected to find a kind of Ohio farm boy a la John Wayne." Sasha gave him a grin that seemed purposefully intended to infuriate and rattled on, "I am quite happy to be wrong, mind you. Actually, come to think of it I don't know what I expected."

Zeke asked a question that had been on his mind. "What about Roy?

"Roy?"

"What is Roy like?"

"Oh...you haven't met him, have you? Of course, he would just slither in and out of town without being seen."

The anger at Roy was palpable. Zeke figured they could build a relationship on that.

"Roy...well, he's just too damned good looking. Sort of a cross between a young Jimmy Stewart and an older Hugh Grant above the neck and below the neck...whew! And then nature had to go and gift him with more natural charm than any one person could need..." Sasha put a hand on Zeke's arm. "Hey, but don't you worry, sweetcheeks. You give him a good run for his money."

"Gee, thanks," Zeke said dryly.

"I wouldn't want you to feel insecure. No way you don't kick Roy's ass in the brains and character department."

The man had a real gift for digging himself deeper.

"You're really not liking me now, huh, Zeke? If it helps, Casey didn't like me much at first either. He got over it, though." Sasha cleared his throat. "So...where am I staying? I was hoping I could crash with you. I'm afraid I'm pretty short on cash or I would go to a hotel."

"Yeah, okay," Zeke allowed. "How many days are you staying?" Sasha had brought two rather large suitcases with him. A lot of clothing for a brief visit.

"I like your directness, Zeke. To tell the truth, I can stay for as long as you can stand me."

"I thought you were working..."

"I quit. Um...actually, I was more fired than quit. The bastard wouldn't let me miss another shift even though I baked him the best fucking bread that he ever swallowed whole with a pound of butter on the side--but anyway. The upshot is I'm free to visit now."

Zeke struggled to process that. He supposed the length of Sasha's stay would depend on Casey. If Casey wanted the guy around, Zeke supposed he would tolerate him.

Suddenly they were in the hospital parking lot. Clearly nervous, Sasha asked, "What should I expect, Zeke?"

"I don't know," Zeke admitted.

The facility was so new it practically glowed, surrounded by verdant lawn and flower beds that were almost too bursting with colour to be real. There were people about, a few who appeared to be staff in the company of patients. Sasha and Zeke presented themselves at reception and were directed to Room E4780. Zeke had half-expected an armed escort–and he didn't see naked screaming psychotics or mental defectives populating the halls either. All was very quiet and clean, and not nearly as sterile as it could have been. Zeke noted that the East Wing opened onto a sort of courtyard, a park to all appearances. He liked that.

The door to E4780 was open. Peering in, Zeke saw something not unlike a dormitory room. Two sets of furniture, two beds; if the one had an occupant they weren't here, and the other was Casey's. He was still–or again–asleep, wearing the sweats from this afternoon and rigged up with the IV. Zeke noticed a small suitcase sitting beside one of the visitor's chairs; Casey's parents must have brought him some clothes.

Sasha made a little sound in his throat and picked up his feet, hurrying over. Zeke trailed just behind, assessing the room. It was not unpleasant. There was quite a large window, overlooking the courtyard Zeke had seen earlier. A small, round table sat under the window with a few chairs placed around it, and the artwork on the wall was not your usual sort of inanity. Zeke's greatest fear was seeing Casey treated like he was stupid, or anything less than extraordinary.

Finally Zeke was assessing Casey, whose general colour seemed a little better than it had been earlier that day. But all the physical damage was even more spectacular in species and number than Zeke remembered.

"God...he's a disaster," Sasha whispered.

"And there's a lot more to see," Zeke muttered. "All over his body."

"H-how? No, don't tell me...Roy...fucking Roy."

It was very nice of everyone to put all the blame on Roy, to Zeke's mind. He knew the truth and it wasn't pretty. Which was not to say that he wouldn't have turned Roy into blood pudding if he had the chance.

A nurse appeared on the other side of the bed. Tiny and cheerful, she said, "Oh, hi there. Friends?"

They nodded.

"He's been sleeping almost the entire afternoon, but he really should wake up and eat some dinner soon. I'm Allie, by the way."

"Sasha."

"Zeke."

A slight noise alerted Zeke; he looked down and saw that Casey's eyes were open and he moving a little but tentatively, evidently stiff and sore.

Allie said, "Oh, he's awake! Such beautiful blue eyes, we really were wondering what colour they were. Casey, my name is Allie, and I'm going to get you your dinner now. Your tummy must be really empty–I'll be right back."

Sasha immediately squatted down to eye level. "Hi, kitten," he said.

Casey stared openly at him, a slight crease between his forehead.

"I know, you probably think I'm a nurse in drag since you're more used to hearing me shout nasty, judgmental things down the phone at you. But it's me, really. I'm here to visit, for as long as you can stand me."

The stare didn't ease any; in fact, it grew wider, and a little moist. Casey appealed to Zeke for something, fighting to get upright. When Sasha tried to help he was rebuffed by a violent flinch which devastated him if the look on his face was any indication. Zeke pushed in, forcing Sasha to step aside for the moment.

"Can I help?"

A nod; a wince of pain. Zeke was not proud of the pleased feeling that welled up inside him and was careful to hide it...he wants me, not you...so there! In short order Casey was sitting up, and in honest truth he wasn't looking all that trustingly at Zeke either. His stare moved here and there randomly, seeing but not understanding.

Zeke had an insight. "You don't remember," he mused. "The hospital...Dr. Hoffman?"

Thickening of emotion over a face of bewilderment – that was answer enough.

"Do you remember...talking to me at the Jam?"

Casey shook his head and clutched at his knees while salt water spilled down his face. He moved as though to pull his knees against his body but it must have hurt too much somewhere so he remained as he was, making twitchy little motions with his hands.

"You were in the bathroom," Zeke explained, thinking that Casey might like to have this sort of data, to help him put things together. "I don't know how you got there...I think you walked...you had bare feet so that's where the scratches came from. Um...before that, I don't know." He waited hopefully for all of two seconds before going on. "Anne called me and I went in and we talked a bit...you were scared..."

Casey's breath was coming shallow and fast.

"Then I took you to the hospital. The doctor checked you out. You're going to be fine, Casey, nothing permanent. You just need to rest and eat regular meals. Then Dr. Hoffman was asked to come and talk to you. I wasn't there for that part...he talked to you twice...you don't remember at all?" Zeke wanted to brush away some of the tears on Casey's face since he seemed oblivious to them himself; just as he had with Sasha, Casey flinched away from the hand.

Well, that hurt, Zeke thought idly. He shouldn't be surprised; it seemed that Casey's last clear memory of him would be from Delilah's party.

"So...Dr. Hoffman decided that it would be best for you to..." Cut the qualifiers, Tyler, and say what you would say to a grown-up. "You're here for three days, Casey. Er...this is day one."

A panic attack was for people with something left to defend–so Casey did not panic. What he did was continue to cry without a sound, like he had no hope of surviving whatever this was.

"Fuck," whispered Sasha.

Zeke concurred. He didn't know what to do. Casey had given him the hands off signal, and clearly words weren't getting them anywhere.

Unexpectedly, Sasha took charge. He crawled into the bed with Casey, ignoring his attempts to cringe away, wrapping his arms about Casey, not squeezing too hard, evidently wanting to avoid making Casey feel confined. He held on to Casey's stiff, frightened body and whispered soothing words in a steady stream like he didn't care what they were so long as they continued to wash over Casey like some topical healing solution, until finally Casey's body loosened---but he did not turn or cling to Sasha. He had not recognized a comforting touch; he had submitted to an incursion, lacking the resources to escape or even ask for his space. Sasha was not in a position to see it, spooned as he was, but Zeke could see everything. He walked away, unable to watch it.

He ended up in the hallway with the nurse and the plastic tray of food.

"Don't be distressed, dear," said Allie. "At this point they usually have a lot of emotions to get out of the system. I wouldn't take it personally."

"Right," Zeke muttered.

Allie brushed past him with her tray. "Hey, sunshine! Time to eat."

He took a few minutes to pull himself together, and then crept up behind Allie. Sasha had unwrapped himself but had not vacated the bed and Casey was sitting up, his eyes glassy. The tray was in his lap.

"I know, it sucks," Sasha commiserated. "But I promise if you eat this I'll cook carbonara for you when you get home."

The sad eyes took him in, puzzling. Zeke ached for him, for the obvious struggle to piece together the reality that was before him. He had always felt Casey was his intellectual equal, so it hurt to see that versatile mind reduced to pacing up and down a couple of narrow, dead-end corridors.

Zeke provided information, as had become his primary function. "Sasha is staying with me, Case. When you get out of here...you can stay there too, if you want."

Now the eyes were on Zeke.

"C'mon, kitten," Sasha was crooning. "You really don't want me to pick up a spoon and make choo-choo noises."

Zeke shook his head. Sasha was like an unstoppable wave of solicitude; it was too much for Casey right now. He proposed, "Casey, if you don't eat Sasha will sit on that bed and keep you from lying down for another twelve hours. The sooner you eat the sooner you can go back to sleep."

Slowly, Casey picked up the fork and began to eat–whatever the hell that mush was. After a couple of disinterested bites, however, he appeared to forget the task that he had started. Allie had been hovering, watching carefully, and she moved in. Tapping Casey's hand, she said, "Not done, sweetheart."

Casey blinked at her distractedly as though he had just noticed she was in the room.

"Oh, no, that's not going to work on me. You don't like that nasty thing in your hand? Well, it can get worse but none of us wants that. Come on, now, this will just take a few minutes..."

Listening to the nurse cajole and manipulate Casey into swallowing each bite quickly became unbearable for Zeke. He nodded to Sasha. It was time to go. He interrupted the chatter briefly to say good night and they would be back tomorrow, both dreading and hoping that Casey would beg him not to leave. It didn't happen.

Ten paces down the corridor they ran into a short, round man whose name tag proclaimed him to be a doctor. He was nearly bald on top but he wore his thin, dark hair in an obvious comb over–not the worse Zeke had ever seen but still pretty obvious. "Excuse me?" he said. "Are you folks here for Casey?"

With a sinking feeling, Zeke said, "Yeah."

The man offered a hand. "I'm Doctor Anthony Spadoni. I'll be Casey's doctor while he's here. And you are...?"

They introduced themselves. Spadoni gave Zeke a long, considering glance. Zeke returned the look with equanimity.

"Could I speak with you in my office for a moment?"

They followed him into a spacious room. One wall was lined with books, the other with degrees. Zeke made a point of reading them all. University of Oklahoma? Clarendon Community College? Ohio State Medical School? Adequate, but not inspiring.

"Zeke, do you have time tomorrow? I'd like to interview you about Casey. I'll be talking to his parents as well."

"What about me?" Sasha burst in. "I want to be interviewed too." At Spadoni's expression, he explained, "I have a lot to say."

"We generally want to speak with those who have been seeing what's happening to the patient recently, people who are close to him."

"I am close!" Sasha protested. "Up until he came home this summer I was with him almost every day–for two years!"

"I didn't realize," the shrink allowed. "Tomorrow afternoon? Good."

"Doctor," Sasha asked suddenly. "Why is Casey so...he doesn't seem to know what's going on."

Zeke clenched his jaw.

"I haven't had an opportunity to fully assess him yet, but I have looked over Dr. Farrand and Dr. Hoffman's notes from the Emergency Department. It may have a lot to do with his physical condition, actually. He was basically starving, Sasha, and that and the dehydration would definitely account for his disorientation. I wouldn't be surprised if he were much better tomorrow. I know that it is distressing to you as his friend."

Sasha's eyes got watery. "Yeah," he said softly.

"I promise we are doing our best to make him feel better, Sasha. Now you should go home and get a good night's sleep and don't worry about Casey." When Sasha snorted in disbelief. "I know. Of course you'll worry. But I mean he'll probably be sleeping too so don't fret about not being here right now."

"Let's go," Zeke said abruptly. If he didn't get out he was going to punch somebody.

They did not speak as they walked out together, by silent and mutual agreement, and then when they were in the car heading back to Herrington, the silence stretched and mutated.

"‘Kitten'?" Zeke wondered out loud, when he couldn't take it anymore.

Sasha shrugged. "It started as a kind of a joke and it just got to be a habit."

"What was that about, anyway?"

"What was what about?"

"You demanding an interview and asking Spadoni what was going on with Casey."

"Is there something unreasonable about that? I just want to make sure nothing gets missed."

"Nothing's going to get missed."

"I don't want to offend you...."

"Go right ahead."

Sasha folded his arms. "I wouldn't want to find myself with no roof over my head, would I? And besides, I'll talk to the doctor tomorrow and tell him my view of everything...so there's no need for me to tell you--that I think you're controlling and arrogant, and that you've been cruel to Casey, and by the way he's a lot worse than he was when I last saw him so you'll forgive me if your promises don't exactly fill me with confidence."

"You don't want to start that comparison."

"Which–what comparison?"

"Of who's been the better friend."

A solid hit. The guy had proudly proclaimed to have seen Casey every day for two years. He must have realized what was going on.

"All I'm saying," Sasha resumed shakily, "is that I've been close to him for a while."

"Well, I've been his friend since high school."

"Oh. He did mention he knew you in high school. He also mentioned he had no friends."

Straight to the mark. Zeke had seen that coming easily, though. "We went through something major together, something you couldn't understand. We've had a connection ever since then."

Zeke waited as Sasha processed that statement, waited for him to realize that he had something with Casey that trumped any comeback of Sasha's. What would he say? I see your alien invasion and raise you a near-death experience...

"Something major..." Sasha mused out loud. Disappointingly, he seemed to have forgotten they were arguing. "You're not talking about...?"

"Yeah, I'm talking about, and to be completely blunt, Sasha, I don't want you to go telling this shrink that on top of everything else Casey had some sort of meltdown in high school and started seeing aliens. They'll figure he's kind of always been crazy, especially when they hear the whole Roy saga...you see the picture I'm painting?"

Sasha seemed to have nothing to say. Zeke took his eyes off the road and glanced over to see that Sasha was staring at him.

"So you're saying..." Sasha began.

"It happened, it fucking happened, and there are five of us who knew it happened."

"I...I don't know what to say."

"But you believe me?"

"I don't know," Sasha admitted. "But...if it happened to you too, why don't you tell them that?"

Sasha was not to be underestimated. "I would, I swear I would if I thought it would help. But I'm afraid it would actually make things worse. Everyone here still doesn't want to believe it happened so they could just see it as further proof that Casey's crazy–and dangerous crazy."

"I don't see why."

"Because he got other kids to believe him. He'll be Charles Manson."

"Oh, really..."

"There were people unaccounted for at the end, Sasha. People missing and presumed dead. "

Sasha chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "Isn't there a way to just avoid getting into the topic?"

"I wish there were. But this is Herrington. Everyone goes around acting like nothing happened, but it's always there, in the back of everyone's mind, wanting an explanation--"

Sasha understood. "--and now they have it."

"Exactly."

"He shouldn't be in that hospital."

"Sure, except that he's really sick."

Sasha was silent, thinking. At length, he said. "Zeke, will you allow that I can be of some help to you in this? You don't have to figure it all out yourself, you know. I care about Casey as much as you. Let me help."

They passed Herrington city limits. Zeke had an epiphany then–he really hated Herrington. "I don't know what you can do," he growled to cover the tightness in his throat. Three times in one day, that had to be a record.

"Well, I know one thing."

 

Grilled, whole-grain mustard crusted pork tenderloin with risotto cakes and fresh string beans. Zeke hovered in the kitchen watching as Sasha efficiently seared the pork and tossed it in the oven, all in the space of ten minutes, then began the risotto. Zeke's complaints about turning on the oven had been ignored; it was past eight o'clock and the temperature was somewhat improved and Sasha was quite accustomed to working for twelve hours in worst conditions. So he told Zeke.

They had stopped at the grocery store on the way home, and in addition to the food Sasha had picked out several bottles of wine. He uncorked the first of them as a prelude to searing the meat and poured himself and Zeke a robust glass of red. Zeke didn't have wine glasses, so they were forced to use tumblers.

"I don't really drink wine," Zeke warned him. "More of a vodka man."

"Vodka is for children who haven't developed their tastes yet," Sasha proclaimed. "No disrespect to vodka."

"None taken."

"You have a fun sense of humour. Kind of dry. Casey's is like that too, although no one's seen it for a while."

Zeke leaned against the counter and sipped his wine. "I'd like to think that there were some good times, that Casey hasn't been miserable twenty-four hours a day for the last two years."

"Oh, there were good times. The first few months especially...and a lot of the first year. Something happened when Casey stayed that summer, I think. I mean, inside Casey. He got quieter and quieter and Roy was around less and less all the time." Sasha pounded the counter with his fist, just once. "I feel like a complete failure, you know? I watched it all happen and I didn't do anything."

"I know."

"Oh? I have a story for you...just an example of how crazy it got."

Recognizing a need to purge, Zeke offered, "Tell me."

"I'll just make you mad."

"I'm already mad. Tell me."

Sasha topped up his wine before starting. "This was maybe five months ago. I was making osso bucco...Roy asked me over for dinner and then of course he roped me into doing the cooking. I was just getting started when Roy announces that something came up and he couldn't stay, but he grabs Casey and takes him to the bedroom for about forty-five minutes. So here I am chopping onions and carrots and searing veal shanks and they're fucking down the hall! And at the end Roy just walks out – not a word to me. Casey comes out and plops down on the couch and starts flipping channels. So I take a break from cooking and go to sit next to him. You know about those–episodes–that he has?"

"First hand. When did that start anyway?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is they scare the crap out of me. Well, I said ‘hey' and he didn't react so I tapped him on the shoulder. He looks at me and says with the sweetest little smile, ‘hi, Sasha'. Like nothing happened. Like he isn't sitting there with this big hickey on his neck that wasn't there an hour ago."

"Damn."

"Yeah, well, you haven't heard the half of it. I'm ashamed to say it but I got really angry at Casey. I said all sorts of things about how Casey could do better and how he needs to dump Roy and get himself some therapy. Meanwhile Casey keeps flipping channels with the remote and the volume on the television got louder and louder. So I lost it, Zeke, I totally lost it. I grabbed the remote and threw it away and yelled at him that Roy was probably off planning his wedding at that very moment and then he was going to go to bed with his fiancee and...fuck, I don't remember entirely what I said. But all of a sudden Casey takes off to the bathroom and locks the door on me."

Zekecould empathize–easily. "Oh, shit."

"So I'm standing outside begging and pleading for him to open the door. And I could hear the shower running. Now I've heard that when people cut their wrists they like to do it in a nice warm bath or shower. I figured, scenario A, Casey just wants a shower and a nice private cry. Scenario B, he's found a razor in the medicine cabinet and he's in there doing himself in while I stand outside like an idiot."

"What did you do?" Zeke asked, genuinely caught up in the story.

"It occurred to me that there might be a key for the door. It's a really old building with those heavy oak doors everywhere, and there is actually a keyhole. But I had no idea where the key might be."

"Did you call Roy?"

"Eventually. But I didn't want to, you know? I knew he was with his family and Janice and he would probably be furious, but by then Casey had been in the shower for a half an hour and I had this vision of a blood spreading under the door and myself trying to explain to the cops...so I phoned. He was all fake and cheerful for the benefit of his family and I was standing there with sweat pouring down me, practically having a fit. They could probably hear my voice coming out of the phone at the other end. Finally Roy hung up on me and I was so–so--I threw my phone across the room."

Zeke laughed, not know what else to do.

"I was at the point of calling 9-1-1 to break down the door, I really was. And then the door opens and Casey comes out wearing a towel and says ‘I'm ready for dinner'. I swear, I could have throttled him right then and there. I go, ‘why did you lock the door' and he says ‘I didn't want you to come in'."

"Fair enough," Zeke commented.

"I say, ‘you do realize I've just aged about a year in the last hour' and he just blinks like it never occurred to him I was worried."

"I'll bet he didn't even hear you yelling."

"And then we sat down and ate osso bucco and watched a movie like nothing happened."

With shaking hands, Sasha refilled Zeke's glass.

"I just don't get it," Zeke admitted. "No one can possibly be so incredible that they really deserve that kind of devotion."

"Well, of course a lot of it is about Casey's issues. But Roy is very charismatic." Sasha adjusted the heat on the broth simmering on the stove and turned his attention to his vegetables. "At least, I used to find him so. He's changed. To tell the truth, I think Casey changed him for the worse."

"What? It wasn't Casey's fault--"

"I mean, few mortals wouldn't be corrupted by that kind of...obsessive attention. When I first met him he was self-centred, yeah, but he wasn't the egomaniac he is now." Chopping onions, Sasha switched the topic casually. "So...what's your story?"

"No story," Zeke replied curtly.

"Oh, I see. You're anonymous."

"What is it you want to know?"

"Why you're so testy all the time, for a start."

"I'm pissed."

"At Roy?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you're pissed at everybody."

"Sasha...that's none of your fucking business." Zeke watched the other man's quick, deft motions, the way his lips were pressed together. Hell, the guy was cooking a meal for him. "I'm sorry," he said contritely. "Casey could tell you–or he would–I have a short fuse but I'm basically harmless."

Sasha raised his head and grinned. "You're far from harmless, Zeke. I think I have a bruise between my eyes from you glaring at me. You really don't like having me here, do you?"

"No–I mean yes, it's fine." Three glasses of wine and he was starting to get a mellow feeling that promoted tolerance but also made his tongue stupid. "I'm glad you're here because Casey...Casey needs you."

"He needs you too, Zeke," Sasha said gently. "You don't have to be jealous. Casey and I are just friends."

"Of course you're just friends." Zeke tried to find a tactful way to state what was bothering him.

"It's the touching, isn't it?" Sasha giggled a little. "Men don't touch each other!"

"This man doesn't," Zeke retorted. He made an effort, lowered his tone and his annoyance level. "I'm working on changing that, but it's just so ingrained." He down half of his wine. "I'll bet right now you're thinking ‘if Casey were a woman' but that's not true. I'm just like that. Ask anyone."

"I believe you, Zeke...."

"But?"

"But...I'll bet you really get uncomfortable when some of us are...over the top?"

"Since you bring it up...yes. Why do you have to be like that? I can see it's all a put on so why do you do it? Don't you know it makes people–" He stopped.

"It's okay, Zeke. Finish your thought."

"You act like that and it seems like you're deliberately trying to make people to think less of you."

"Ah." Sasha smiled widely, something Zeke had noticed he did even when it hurt. Where Zeke would shout, he smiled. "I guess I do it because I'm waiting for someone to surprise me." He picked up the wine bottle, found it empty. With raised eyebrows he asked if he should open another. Zeke nodded. He grabbed a second bottle from the counter. "Maybe I want it to be the kind of world where I can gush over things and kiss whoever I want just because I feel like it and cry just because I feel like it and just leave all my feelings hanging out where everyone can see them." So saying, he was efficiently working the cork out. "If I get ridiculed for wanting that...I have a choice. I can either act more outrageous and make them really uncomfortable, or I can stop. But I'm not going to stop–not for them, or for you, Zeke."

Sasha calmly poured himself a glass of wine, and topped up Zeke's.

"You've shut me up," Zeke admitted.

"You wanted an explanation, didn't you?"

"It's not easy to shut me up."

"I figured that out about you."

Zeke started to smile. "I'm waiting for someone to surprise me too."

"Do you know....Casey surprises me constantly."

"I know. Actually, I think he's kept me on some sort of adrenalin bender for the last month," Zeke remarked wryly.

Sasha laughed out loud, a full belly laugh.

 

A wine hangover was an entirely different creature. Zeke felt like his head had been wired into a vise that was being tightened very slowly. His mouth felt like a three-year old raisin. To his mortification, Sasha was already up when he staggered out of bed. The man had made coffee and was cheerfully reading a magazine. "Good morning!" he greeted Zeke.

Zeke grunted.

"Oh, you don't look very happy. I must apologize, one forgets that you're still barely old enough to drink. You project that super-mature, hard-drinking, chain-smoking thing and I forgot you're barely out of diapers."

"Shut up," Zeke muttered, staggering to the cupboard over the sink where he kept the painkillers.

"Oh, we are cranky aren't we?" Sasha put down the magazine. "Really, Zeke, I am sorry. But you know, we were doing so well bonding over the vino, I just didn't want to break the spell."

"It's okay...but I need a greasy breakfast right now."

"Um, okaaay...I won't join you but I will watch you."

The opening of the door heralded a blast of heat that made Zeke wilt. He handed the keys to Sasha. "Can you drive?"

"Yeah..." Sasha grinned from ear to ear.

Zeke waved a distracted hand. "Enjoy."

"Wow," nattered Sasha as they were getting underway. "I am so completely honoured that you would let me do this."

"It's only a couple of blocks, and it's insured."

"But I'll bet you don't let just anyone drive."

"Sure I would."

"Oh, come on. How many people besides you have driven this car?"

"At least five."

"After you bought it."

"Not as many."

"You're liking me now, Zeke. Admit it."

"No, I'm not, and I wish you would stop talking."

"Okay." Sasha hummed to himself for the rest of the trip. "Where am I going?"

He hesitated before giving directions to the Jam. What the hell...he was not going to deprive himself of his favourite restaurant for the rest of his life. Besides, he owed it to Anne to let her know that things were under control at least.

"Zeke!" Anne exclaimed as he came in the door. He winced. She came up to him, looking concerned and generally nervous. "Is...are you...okay?"

The cook and the other waitresses had one ear cocked, no doubt. "Yes, everything is okay," he said for their benefit.

"How's Casey?"

"He'll be fine," Zeke pronounced.

He thought he caught an expression of repulsion on a face sitting at one of the tables. He recognized them vaguely just before the face was turned away. He lodged the observation in the appropriate mental file and found himself a seat.

"Coffee, please, Anne."

Anne brought him a menu and a cup of the latest brew. She seemed more nervous than before. Now Zeke realized that there was a palpable aura... hostility, disgust, horror and just plain naked delight, the kind that only vicious gossips could savour. Sasha obviously felt it too; he glanced at Zeke and raised his eyebrows.

"I'll have my usual, Anne," Zeke said and whatever everyone is thinking, they are sadly mistaken if they believe I'm not going to take my time and enjoy my breakfast so they can wear out their eyeballs if they like.

"I'll have the mixed fruit with yogurt," Sasha determined, fastidious as ever.

Anne nodded and went away.

"What's up for today?" Sasha asked, blatantly making conversation.

"We're not expected at the hospital until this afternoon," Zeke mused. "I have the feeling they don't want us around there constantly."

"I hate this," Sasha said in a low voice. "I hate thinking of him out there alone even if he barely notices we're there. I would rather have him at home barely noticing me."

"I know," Zeke agreed. The coffee was not sitting well with him. Too much acid, not enough lubricant. His body was crying out for egg yolks and pork fat. And there were too many things chafing...too many people had access to Casey and there was nothing he could do about it. They could be saying things and eliciting stuff from Casey that Zeke could not control. He had to stop thinking about it or go mad. He would have a chance to speak to Spadoni today and he was going to make the interview count although he hadn't a clue just yet how he would accomplish that.

"What's going on here?" Sasha went on in a whisper, verbally acknowledging the miasma in the diner. "Is this just small-town homophobia or is there more to it?"

"I don't know."

"Well, it's appalling. I might have to make a scene."

"Don't. If anyone is going to make a scene it should be me."

Sasha smiled at that.

"Anne," Zeke asked when she brought their breakfasts. "Why is everyone looking at me like that?"

"Like what, Zeke?" Anne replied, extremely uncomfortable now.

"Like something that just crawled up from the sewer."

"I don't know–"

"Come on," he hissed. "I want to know."

Anne glanced around once then sat beside him quickly. "Okay. It's gotten around that you brought Casey Connor to the hospital and people have the impression that–that–um..."

"Yes-s-s?"

"They think that you and–and him–"

"Just say it, Anne."

"That you're together." She winced as she said it.

"And...?"

"Is it true?"

"Yes," he shot back, almost pleased at the expression of hurt on her face. But she could debrief with the other waitresses and her girlfriends...there had to be a reason why he had dumped Delilah Profitt and why he hadn't shown any interest in her and wasn't it a waste though? "What else are they saying?"

"Well, they heard that Casey arrived at the hospital last night so beat up that he's in intensive care now, and um...they think you did it."

Fucking Shirley Dubois' mother–okay, he didn't actually know that. There were also two doctors, and about fifty other hospital staff who could have hot-wired the rumour machine. Why should he be surprised? Hell, he was not surprised, not at all. Gay equals perverse and perverse equals violence.

Still, he had to protest a little. "But you saw. You saw he was hurt when he came in, before you called me."

"I know, Zeke."

"So why...? Never mind. I'm grateful, by the way. That you called me." He picked up his fork and methodically dealt with his meal, which was not looking quite as appealing to him but damned if he was going to give anyone the satisfaction of leaving before he had finished every last bite.

Sasha was quiet the entire time. As they walked out he handed the car keys to Zeke without a word. Zeke started the car and then he just stopped. He was paralyzed–couldn't think, couldn't reason. Without even knowing how it began he suddenly found himself beating up on his steering wheel even though it fucking hurt beyond belief. He saw through the windshield that people were still watching him, sitting in their booths watching him and their mouths moving like they thought he was stupid to realize they were talking about him. Or maybe they just didn't care.

"Can I tell you something?" Sasha intervened cautiously.

"Be my guest."

"It's relevant, I promise. I come from a town smaller than this one. Pretty working class, none of this middle-class suburban lifestyle. I came out when I was nineteen. I told my parents in our living room and I really thought they would get over it. They would be mad at first but they would come to accept it. Well...it didn't turn out that way. My sister says that my parents make like I'm dead."

"That's terrible but it has nothing to do with–"

"Yes, it does. You know it does. Maybe not everyone thinks the worst because you're gay. Some do think the worst because you're gay, and some just like to gossip, but that's not my point. My point is you can't go home, Zeke. That's where some of us get to. You can either realize it or deny it but it's a fact."

"Believe me, I'm already there."

"And what about Casey? What if he isn't there yet?"

"He left a long time ago," Zeke opined confidently. "They just dragged him back. What I have to do is figure out a way to get him out of here in one piece."

 

Their first stop on arrival at the hospital was again Casey's room. The visit was essentially a repeat of the previous day, with some slight variation. Casey was still mostly asleep and even when awake he would just lay there staring at the walls and not responding much. He didn't seem quite as frightened, however, which was a relief. When it was time for Zeke's interview with the shrink he left Sasha with Casey and went to Spadoni's office.

The comb over was worse today. How could a man in the mental health profession go around wearing a neurosis on his head, that was what Zeke wanted to know.

"So, Zeke." Spadoni crinkled his eyes and showed his teeth, trying to be approachable, Zeke supposed. "What's Casey been like, lately?"

"I don't know where to begin."

"You told Dr. Hoffman that Casey has been depressed. Has he said anything to you about how he's feeling?"

"Not much, it's more that he shows me. You need to know that he's been in a pretty bad relationship for almost two years, while he's been in school."

"What does he study?"

"Physics."

"So...he's fairly smart, then."

"He's very smart," Zeke professed. "School's always been a breeze for him–the academic part, anyway."

"You knew him in high school, didn't you?"

Zeke tensed. "Yeah."

"Did he show signs of depression or anxiety then, that you remember?"

"Oh, hell, yeah."

Suddenly, the angle came to him. Adrenalin made his heart leap as he realized how he could manipulate this man to Casey's benefit. He sat up straighter and tried not to look like he was plotting–which he was, plotting an entire life history for Casey

"He was always getting beat up on," it began. "And he was always alone. I think that's why this guy could get to him. He was just fertile ground, you know?"

"When you say he was getting beat up on..."

"I mean literally beat up. There was this group of jocks who would–well, they attacked him pretty much every day."

The shrink was scribbling furiously, taking down the story. "I see, and when you say Casey was anxious..."

"He was jumpy. Always looking over his shoulder. Sometimes he couldn't sleep."

"Has he shown similar symptoms lately? That you know of?"

"Well, he acts like he's been through a war sometimes. I've seen him get panicky. He doesn't like to go out, especially in large crowds. And when things get really rough he zones out."

Spadoni glanced up. "How do you mean?"

"When Casey gets upset sometimes, he just...goes away."

"How often?"

"The severe ones, not too often. But I'd have to say it happens every day. It's always happening."

"Describe a severe one."

"It was like he was in a trance. He didn't hear me, even when I shook him and yelled in his ear. I don't know how long it would have lasted if I hadn't brought him out of it."

"How did you do that?"

"Cold shower."

"Interesting..." Spadoni wrote at length.

Zeke decided it was the right time to introduce a new chapter. "There's something else."

"Yes?"

"I really didn't want to bring this up, but...are you from around here?"

"I live in Herrington, Zeke."

"So you know..."

"About Casey's claim to fame, yes. Is there something you want to tell me about that?" Spadoni tilted his head. "Wait. You were involved too, weren't you?"

"Yes, but not the way you think." Zeke's brain shifted into a gear that was close to light speed.

"You don't know what I think, Zeke."

"Which is?"

"I think I'd like to hear your story."

There was no going back now. Zeke sucked a breath and said, "There weren't any aliens. I made them up."

Spadoni stopped writing. He lifted his head and examined Zeke with hard eyes. "You made them up."

"Yes. I never intended for it to get that big, though."

"I'm listening."

"Um, you see...I told you how those boys would beat on Casey."

"Yes."

"It got so bad, I really thought he was losing it. And then Principal Drake went missing and this FBI agent came and interviewed all the students. I remember that day we were all called into the nurse's office, one by one. I remember seeing Casey that day and he was just a mess but refusing to say who had done it to him...and then when it was my turn to be interviewed I made some joke to the FBI guy about aliens abducting Principal Drake. I didn't expect to be taken seriously. Next thing I know there were more FBI and I told the story ten more times and somewhere along the way Casey became the hero of it."

Zeke watched and waited as Spadoni took this in. Believe me, he compelled. You will believe me.

The shrink spoke at last. "This is amazing, Zeke. So then the press came along and lionized Casey, took his picture, gave him all this attention, and he went along with it."

"More than that...he started believing it."

"Of course," Spadoni murmured. "Fascinating. And after...?"

"Everyone left him alone, of course, because he was this dangerous character now. So he didn't give up the fantasy and the few of us who knew the truth never mentioned it. I swear I never meant any harm by it. The press stopped coming around, so I thought it would just sort of fade away, you know?"

"I understand that, Zeke."

"I just had to tell you because I'm afraid you'll lock him up over this when he's really completely harmless."

"Zeke, we don't necessarily lock people up because they have a version of reality that's different than ours–as long as they aren't dangerous to others or themselves. But I appreciate you telling me this. I think at this point we need to be more concerned over Casey's current symptoms and there's no reason to think he can't go home in a week or two, with outpatient therapy, medication and the proper supports of course."

Zeke walked out of the interview feeling extremely pleased with himself.

He sat with Casey while Sasha talked to the psychiatrist for an hour or so. He held Casey's hand and stroked it, and had the impression that Casey noticed, and that it helped. Zeke imagined that he was seeing healing right in front of his eyes, but so gradual and subtle that it was barely noticeable. But it was happening, and he was helping to make it happen.

Sasha came back from his interview with red eyes. He muttered, within Casey's earshot, "Roy had better not ever show his face to me again."

Upon the utterance of that name, Casey suddenly looked right at Sasha. Then he looked at his hand, twined with Zeke's.

"Case?" Zeke whispered.

Sasha begged, "Say something, kitten."

Casey turned his face up and looked at Zeke. Saw Zeke. Zeke squeezed Casey's hand, silently imploring him to speak. The lips moved and even before he heard the first word Zeke was thinking no, dammit, no...I'm not going to cry again.

"Yuh..." Casey stumbled, his voice trembling, "...y-you're here?"

"Yeah, I'm here, Case." Zeke squeezed the hand in his and said fervently, "I'm still here."

"S-sorry...so sorry..." Casey was saying it to Zeke and Sasha both, his eyes filling up. "So sorry, so sorry..."

Sasha pounced, grabbing Casey and hugging him while Zeke continued to hold his hand. "Don't even...I'm sorry, kitten."

It was not pretty, to be sure. There was nothing graceful about it. Zeke couldn't bring himself to care. He ended up holding Casey's hand with both of his, hugging it against his chest as he stood at the side of the bed, bent slightly and awkwardly so that his back would hurt later but it would make him happy when he remembered, especially how Casey clung to him with his eyes and said like an invocation, "You're still here...you're still here."

 

On the following day, day three of the assessment, Dr. Spadoni held a conference with Zeke, Sasha and Casey's parents. "Casey has decided to stay for a while," Spadoni informed them. "Until he feels a bit stronger. Then we'll work together on an outpatient basis."

"How long?" Zeke demanded.

"We thought we'd start with a couple of weeks."

Frank Connor shifted uncomfortably, but didn't say a word.

"Why couldn't he tell us himself?" asked Casey's mom.

"Mrs. Connor, I can assure you that it isn't because he doesn't want you around. He has given me permission to share a few details so no one is out of the loop. He's still feeling extremely depressed and shaky. I've only managed to have short conversations with him at this point, and trust me, he's made the right decision."

"Was it his decision?" challenged Frank Connor in a mutter.

For once, Zeke was in total sync with the man.

"You may be thinking he's not capable of making a decision, Mr. Connor, but he is according to our definition. The right to make a decision includes the right to have poor judgment, although I don't think it is poor judgment in this case. I did tell him what I thought he should do and I'm sure he just took the path of least resistance, but the upshot is that he is a voluntary patient who can leave whenever he likes. We are not interested in locking him up–we're interested in getting him on his feet and back out into the world as soon as possible."

"But why isn't he here?" Casey's mom pressed, her throat working.

"We're trying to involve him in some of our scheduled activities, although his participation is limited right now. To be frank, Allison–may I call you Allison?–he is probably sleeping. He sleeps a lot of the day."

"I know, I kept trying to find ways to get him up..."

"And I wouldn't blame you if you thought ‘if only he would get out of bed, he'd feel better' but depression doesn't work that way. It's an illness that's physical as well as emotional. As much as we may want to tell Casey to pull himself together he simply can't, not without help."

"Drugs," commented Casey's father in a disparaging way.

"There are a lot of medications now, Frank, that can be very effective without any symptoms or side effects."

"Is he taking one of them?"

"I can tell you that he is. We won't know for at least a few weeks whether or not it's helping, though. This type of drug doesn't give you an instant, giddy feeling. It works more like a vitamin. That, combined with therapy, is how we treat the depression and the anxiety that Casey is feeling. There is no instant cure."

Mrs. Connor spoke up again. "I guess this means he won't be going back to school."

"Not this fall. In fact, it would be a great help if you could contact his college and let them know. I will provide a letter to verify that Casey is putting his studies on hold for medical reasons. Now, you mustn't feel that this will prevent Casey from finishing his degree. I have every confidence that he will recover, and then he can return to his program...perhaps sooner than you think. It isn't like we expect people to have everything sorted out before they go on with their lives–if that were necessary, we'd all be in hospitals."

Apparently this slight crinkling of the eyes and pursing of the lips was Spadoni's idea of a smile. Zeke and Sasha traded a glance, and Zeke had an idea that Sasha was hating this guy as much as himself.

"So when should we come to visit?" Allison asked.

"We have regular visiting hours, you're free to come then. Apart from that it's between you and Casey. But you mustn't expect too much or take things personally at this point, all right? If Casey doesn't look happy to see you or doesn't want to talk to you, it doesn't necessarily have anything to do with you."

"Okay," said Allison, and sniffed. Zeke expected Frank to make a noise of displeasure or annoyance, but instead he reached over and took her hand. Astounding. The parents rose from their chairs together. Frank asked, "Can we go see him now?"

"If you like."

Spadoni showed them all to the door. Zeke was about to follow the Connors to Casey's room when he received a request: "Zeke? May I speak with you privately?"

"Okay." Zeke waved off Sasha's frown. The door shut, leaving him and the shrink together.

Spadoni glanced at his watch. "I have an appointment in ten minutes, but we can chat until then." Zeke had a distinct sense that someone was trying to put him in his place. He settled himself in his chair again and waited patiently.

"Thank you for staying behind, Zeke," Spadoni said, taking his own seat. "There was something I wanted to ask you."

"Yes?"

"I need you to cut back on your visits to Casey."

"What–? No, absolutely not."

"Please."

"You don't have the right to ask me that."

"I don't have the right, but I am asking. This is important and it's something Casey wouldn't feel comfortable doing himself."

"Casey wants me around. You can't convince me he asked you to do this."

"Of course he wants you around, Zeke, that's not the issue. Or rather, it is the issue. Let me explain–"

"No," Zeke interrupted loudly. "I know what you're going to say, but Casey and I are very close. He expects me to be there for him."

"That is true, Zeke, I'm not arguing that. Now, you've demonstrated yourself to be a very intelligent, well-informed young man, so I'm going to ask you this...are you familiar with the concept of the borderline personality?"

"I've heard of it."

"All right. Now, this is a personality disorder where the person cannot maintain their boundaries in relationships. They have a pattern of quickly losing themselves, to the extent that they have no identity of their own. They put everything of themselves into another person and cling to them so determinedly that the person may get scared. The borderline's greatest fear is losing this person in whom they've invested so much, and quite often the fear becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Does this ring any bells?"

"Of course, but–"

"It's considered a kind of post-traumatic stress disorder, which jives well with the things you've shared with me about Casey's high school experience."

"I understand all this," Zeke contended. "Maybe I didn't have the technical jargon but I get it. I've always been careful, I try to respect his individuality."

"But he makes it tough, doesn't he? Be honest. If you spend time with Casey, will you be able to keep him at a distance?"

Zeke growled, "Don't beat around the bush, doctor. We are talking about sex, aren't we?"

"Yes and no. Zeke, both doctors who treated Casey at Herrington General made a point of mentioning you in their notes, and so did the nurses here."

"Really."

"They observed that you are extremely protective of Casey and at the same time extremely controlling, that you filter every stimulus before it gets to him if you can. They are concerned about the nature of your relationship with him."

"That's–that's–" Zeke sputtered. "Yeah, I was being protective in the hospital, it was damned appropriate at the time! I know that fucking doctor thinks that I'm the rough trade, that those are my teeth marks on Casey but it isn't true. I told him that and I'm telling you that. You can believe me or not. Casey and I haven't even had sex, it was that Roy motherfucker–"

"Calm down, Zeke."

"I am calm, and fuck you too by the way. I'm going to come visit Casey unless Casey tells me to stop. You want to talk about autonomy? Let Casey decide who is going to visit him. Let Casey decide who his doctor is going to be when he leaves here."

Spadoni said, "There's no need to attack me, Zeke. I'm no threat to you."

"You're right about that."

"Let's say I believe you, that you and Casey don't have a sexual relationship."

"I didn't say that."

"Whatever. The problem remains. I'm going to be working with Casey and I'm going to be trying to convince him that he can be alone...but he can't learn to be alone with you around every day."

"I agree with you that Casey needs to work on that. But don't you think this is a little premature? If I disappear now it will kill him."

"I'm only asking that you back off temporarily, not disappear altogether."

Sometimes when you just weren't getting anywhere the only thing to do was to bring the argument to a close. "I'll think about it," Zeke granted, while to himself he added, In your dreams, you vain little fucker...

"Zeke, I know you think I'm trying to interfere with something that's none of my business. I'm asking you to trust me. You've been under a lot of stress but you need to accept...you can let go now."

"I said I would think about it." Zeke leaned forward so that his face was hovering over Spadoni's desk. "And in return maybe you could think about something."

"What is that, Zeke?"

"Consider that it's possible to live without boundaries."

"That would hardly be--"

"And maybe Casey was just brave enough to try it–"

"–constructive–"

"--with the wrong person."

"Well, Zeke, I'm bound to say I don't buy that. I'm a mental health professional, not a philosopher, and I can tell you that boundaries are essential to a healthy ego. Casey didn't choose to try going without his boundaries; they were systematically destroyed, and my job is to help him rebuild them. If you ever want to have an authentic relationship with him, you'll help me do that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go. "

Spadoni got to his feet. It was very blatantly a dismissal

There was anger, and then there was the kind of red-hot nuclear inferno that launched Zeke out of the shrink's office and sent him stalking the halls to Casey's room. There was no plan, no thought, only fragments of a half-formed vision of what he would do or say when he saw Casey. Seeing that the room was empty only stoked the fire hotter.

Marching up and down the corridors, ignoring the perplexed, slightly alarmed faces that flashed past him, he eventually found a visitor's lounge and Casey, sitting flanked on all sides by his parents and Sasha. He was noticeably improved today; more oriented, certainly a little stronger, able to be on his feet without wobbling. Less worse but not well, not by a long shot. Zeke didn't know what he could expect to get from him, but he appeared in front of Casey and their witnesses and demanded recognition--even though henceforth he was officially to be considered extraneous, an endangerment.

There was a look that he had come to anticipate from Casey. It was the look he got every morning when Casey showed up on his doorstep, the look when they sat on the couch together and suddenly, inadvertently, their eyes crossed paths, or when they were both mesmerized by kissing and there was one of those unplanned, momentous pauses. It was a look Zeke had considered his own right up until two days ago and the bathroom stall. The look that said Zeke was It. The Man.

Zeke spoke a word and Casey's face turned in his direction and--

\--there it was, a look that had already tainted one man who had been too weak to realize that it was a very dangerous gift. Here I am, take me, it said and had said to Zeke many times over now, all the way back to that day in high school when Zeke had spirited Casey away in his car for a plate of french fries, and Zeke had been puzzling over it for three years now but he grasped the whole of it finally: I'm yours. Take me. You are the risk that I accept.

And Zeke made a decision.


	6. Chapter 6

It was like this -- somewhere along the line he'd been scammed. He had  
somehow agreed to perform in this video-store reject called "The Life of Casey Connor." It  
was just plain lousy... not a _Plan-Nine-From-Outer-Space_ lousy that was somehow  
redeemed by its own ineffable badness, but complete, unsalvageable crap. Production  
values sucked. The script was a nightmare of bad writing, and unfinished too. Sets were  
made out of cardboard, pipe-cleaners and string, glued together haphazardly and clumsily,  
like a five-year-old's art project. Props were notional at best and every scene was played  
against poorly-executed matte paintings. The whole thing was a joke, a pathetically addled  
account of a real life, and at some point in the narrative the bizarreness of it had gotten so  
distracting that he just stopped speaking his lines. He couldn't participate in the farce  
anymore. How he wished everyone involved in perpetrating this monumental disaster would  
just be content to let him disappear -- but no, they _would_ drag him out of his little room  
and onto the stage, insisting that he knock off the histrionics and live up to his contract.

"Good morning, Mike. Good morning, Casey..."

There was his cue. Might as well improvise... no one would notice the difference  
anyway.

The camera's eye came upon a hand... a pasty, inanimate thing. There was  
something stuck in it, connecting the hand to some equipment just out of frame. He didn't  
remember noticing this before -- but he did remember the prick of something sharp as it  
penetrated him. Beyond the hand was a teal-coloured shape, a smiling-faced female in  
cotton who provoked, administered, managed... they really would do anything to get a body  
to perform. They would loop tubes about dead human flesh and pump renewing  
substances into it, defying its best efforts to remain inanimate.

"Remember me, Casey?" the teal-woman nudged gently. There was a babbling  
in the background, a rise and fall of sound that was vaguely human in origin. Seemed like  
he had been hearing that for a while, and he was still trying to decide if it were noise or  
music. It struck him that the hand he was looking at belonged to _him_. Casey  
Connor. The protagonist -- not hero, we won't use that word -- of the entire, cheesy  
production.

There was a flashback having to do with that hand and that needle, something  
the female had said... _it can get worse than this but none of us wants that._ The  
protagonist should hate a character who said that to him, but then he wasn't sure if he could  
carry off hatred -- or portray any human emotion for that matter -- and so he gave up and  
decided she was just an extra whose function in the story was to make helpful sounds and  
gestures.

Such as: "That's okay, sweetheart, I can tell you as many times as you need to  
hear it. My name is Allie and you look much better today, Casey... do you want to sit up?"

Oh... yeah, right, the protagonist was hurt. His physical routine in this scene  
must remain in character, to depict a pain not sharp but dull, like everything was dull.

"A bit stiff, huh?" A hand on the arm of the -- no, his, _Casey's_ arm. "No  
surprise there, you've barely been out of this bed for the last few days. Once you've eaten,  
I'll take you for a little walk-that'll help... . now, Casey, I'm going to make you an offer you  
can't refuse. You eat this whole breakfast, and I'll take that IV out. Sound good?"

Ah, now _there_ was a film with merit, a more discriminating choice than  
this third-rate cheese-fest. Brando, gnawing on his words in "The Godfather" -- or how about  
Brando as Stanley Kowalski in "Streetcar Named Desire"... so hot he made your teeth  
sweat. Lean and feral, barely sentient, an agent of absolute instinct. Poor Blanche -- she  
had watched him stalk her and was helpless to stop it, mesmerized by his power. Blanche  
had this going for her though... she always knew her lines right up until the last page, even  
when she no longer knew how to connect her inner world with the outer reality. You always  
got to understand what was going on in her head that way.

If "Streetcar" were anything like "The Life of Casey Connor", Blanche would have  
been inarticulately wondering how even the faces that she supposedly knew, with names so  
close they lived on the tip of her tongue, were strange. Strange -- but not unfamiliar. Zeke.  
Sasha. Mom and Dad. The protagonist -- anti-hero -- had been seeing those faces around  
him and he would muse _I know you, I know this person_ yet it was all alien -- their skin  
flat and waxen while the air around them distorted and misshapen.

Allie was still talking; he supposed he had been missing cues all over the place.  
"Now," she was saying, "The doctor would like to see you regularly every morning, and once  
you feel up to it you can eat in the lunchroom with the others. In the afternoons we have  
you slotted into group therapy for an hour... and then there's usually some sort of  
instructional classes... today we're doing yoga." A smile. "Are you ready for breakfast  
now?"

 _... you have no choice... perform already..._

The tone changed just slightly: "Casey. Are you ready for breakfast." It was no  
longer a request.

 _perform, damn you..._

Casey nodded.

She brought him a bowl of pale, soft cereal. No easy mark, she stood there and  
watched until he had made enough progress to satisfy her. Then there was juice, and a  
fruit salad. The concept of coffee flitted through his head once, briefly, but he gave up on it  
almost the moment it happened. If they wanted him to have coffee in this scene they would  
have given it to him already.

After he was done she took his tray away and then returned to remove the IV as  
promised. Casey didn't watch it happen, registering the slight sting and ache with his face  
averted. With the connection severed he rubbed his hand absently, considering the bruise  
there. How long had that bruise taken to form, he wondered, and when had it started? He  
had no real recall of the IV being put in, or where that had happened. Maybe everything he  
remembered happening lately was a fantasy, like Blanche's belief in telegrams from  
gentleman millionaires and forgiving words from her embittered lover. Maybe he had been  
in this place for a long time already. But if it were a fantasy, it would have to be just a tiny  
bit more pleasant, wouldn't it? And there was that still healing burn on his right arm too, no  
longer bandaged, just a tight, scabby stiffness.

"Casey, it's time to talk to the Doctor now. I'll show you around a little bit on the  
way there, okay?"

There was no hurry getting him to his feet. The background burbling was now  
attended by a white confusion close around his head as he moved upright. The clouds  
cleared slowly, leaving behind the rattle of a human voice. It was then he noticed that there  
was a third character in this scene. A roommate. The fellow was enormous and homely,  
like the comic book geek from "The Simpsons". He was talking on a phone at his bedside,  
as he had been doing all along in a non-stop stream of verbal matter.

"This is Michael Skalesky," Allie introduced the man even as he was talking; he  
nodded and put the phone against his chest for a moment. "This is Casey Connor."

"Hi... call me Mike," the room-mate responded promptly. "Bipolar Disorder, and  
you? No, don't tell me. Depression. I've been watching you sleep for the last few days.  
Man, I've totally been there, you just hate everything and everyone, just lay there in a black  
stink, right? And well, then you add the fun of being manic the rest of the time and-"

"Mike," Allie interrupted. "Casey has to be somewhere to be right now."

"Oh, right. El Doctoro, gotta come when the big man calls." With that, Mike  
resumed his telephonic monologue.

Allie directed Casey out into the hallway, which was sparsely populated by other  
patients as well as staff sporting various shades of cotton-pink, pale blue, fuscia, and  
Allie's teal. She stayed alongside Casey as they traversed the corridors of his new  
environment in slow motion. Most of the time that she was touring him about he was  
thinking wearily about the prospect of having to run dialogue with a room-mate.

"-and this is what we call our Learning Room. You'll come here for group, for  
classes, and sometimes we have movie nights. There's one tonight in fact. I think we're  
showing 'Moonstruck'."

She seemed to want a response at this point. "Oh," he said.

"Mike is a good guy, Casey," Allie offered, resuming their walkabout. He  
followed her meekly. "You're probably thinking he talks a lot, and he does, but then he  
doesn't really ever require a response so you two should get along great." She flicked a  
smile over her shoulder to let him know it was a joke. "You can just tell him when you want  
quiet and he'll be fine with it. He's been here for a month... .here's the office." She  
positioned him there outside the door. "I'll come back in a little while if you like," she added,  
touching his arm right before she abandoned him. "Walk you back. Just for today."

Scene: The protagonist, an Extremely Disturbed Mental Patient, stands at an  
office door. The door bears a nameplate... _Doctor Anthony Spadoni_ , it reads. The  
Patient stands outside for several minutes in silence despite understanding that he is  
supposed to go in. The door opens suddenly, startling him. The Doctor is short, olive-skinned. He wears the characteristic white coat and he tends to sweat; there are beads of  
moisture on his forehead despite the artificial breeze that is making the Patient shiver. The  
Doctor's hair is an experiment in what men should not do when they begin to thin on top.  
The Doctor is a person who habitually bears himself with a self-conscious mien of caring  
and sympathy; he likes to be concerned, to remind the Patient who is the healer and who is  
to be healed. "Casey?" he says, a bit taken aback.

It seemed that Casey had already acted a scene with this character. Yesterday?  
Or was it a few days ago? The doctor had gone on and on and he was very tired and  
eventually nodded his head at the right moment just to get the man to shut up so he could  
go back to sleep.

"How long have you been standing out here?" The doctor sounded a bit  
impatient. "You _can_ knock, Casey. It's all right. Come on in." Casey stumbled a  
little as he passed over the threshold. The doctor did not try to grab his arm and steady  
him, though, and he wasn't sure what to think of that. "Have a seat, Casey. Anywhere you  
like."

There were several couches and chairs, all in brown, beaten leather. Expensive,  
but much easier to clean up if patients made a mess on them, of course. Casey took the  
spot nearest to the door, on the end of a couch. The doctor went back to his desk and sat  
behind it. There was a wide gulf between them-ten feet at least.

"How are you feeling today, Casey?"

Another cue. Sometimes he missed them but this one he didn't-he just refused  
to perform this time.

"Still not much for talking, huh? Okay. I'll talk for a bit. Just in case you don't  
remember, I'm Dr. Spadoni. My credentials are here on the wall, if you're interested." A  
curved grimace of the lips. "I'll be working with you while you're here. When you leave the  
hospital we can continue the therapy on an outpatient basis-that is, if you want to continue  
working with me. If you don't, I would strongly recommend that you to continue therapy with  
someone else. Medication is great, but it must be combined with therapy to be properly  
effective. Do you understand?"

Casey didn't answer.

"I'm sure that you do understand, Casey, because I know that you're a very  
intelligent young man. Now I don't want you to feel pressure to talk, but the fact is you can't  
begin healing until you do. Don't think in terms of right or wrong answers here-the  
important thing is that we begin, and because today is our first real session, we'll take it  
slow." Dr. Spadoni stopped to moisten his dry lips. Eying Casey with conspicuous  
compassion, he said, "Maybe there's something you want to ask me?"

There was.

"H-how... long... ?"

"How long have you been here? This is your sixth day. You may find that you  
don't recall a lot of it, but don't let that distress you. It's hardly surprising with  
depression-and then there's the dissociation..." The psychiatrist paused, reining himself in.  
"Do you remember making the decision to stay here?" He barely waited before going on.  
"We had a talk about it. I explained to you why I thought it was a good idea and you agreed,  
so you're a voluntary patient at Whitby Psychiatric Hospital. I originally suggested two  
weeks, but now I'm thinking three or even four might be more realistic. How does that  
sound?"

Casey shrugged.

"Well, do think about it, there's plenty of time. Now, as for what our goal should  
be while you're here, I think that our focus should be to start establishing some coping  
skills -- to help you when you get back out there." Dr. Spadoni whipped out a pad of paper  
and a pen. "Do you agree?"

He could nod; he did nod.

"Excellent. To start, I want you to know that your parents and Zeke and Sasha  
have shared some things with me, so I could understand how to help you. Where normally  
a therapist might start by taking some very basic information such as who your parents are,  
do you have brothers and sisters, where you live and so on, in this case that isn't really  
necessary. Of course I do hope to get to know you, Casey, from your perspective. I'm here  
to help."

Zeke had been in this room... . _You've got your work cut out for you,_ he  
would have said. _Casey's a mess... I can't be here to help, though, I need to go to Seattle  
and start my new life... _

The doctor's voice droned on, "First and foremost there are certain events I'd like  
to discuss with you."

Perhaps Zeke would go on to _It's not that I don't care... we just have separate  
lives and he doesn't fit in mine... _ and Sasha might say, _Of course I forgive him... my  
poor kitten has no control over himself... but I can't stand by and be a party to that... gotta  
go... maybe if he comes back to Cincinnati we can be roomies -- _

"Casey? Are you hearing me?"

Dr. Spadoni had raised the volume a little. Satisfied that he now had Casey's  
attention, he continued in a more moderate tone.

"Zeke and Sasha have told me about how you like to go away when something's  
bothering you. When we're in here I'd like you feel safe and secure enough that you don't  
have to do that. It's okay, I'm not judging you or telling you that's wrong. I do think, though,  
that we should work on putting a stop to these episodes... you know why? Because there  
are a lot of things bothering you that you're trying to avoid feeling or thinking about, that you  
 _need_ to think about. We can talk about all the definitions and textbook terms for  
what you're experiencing -- but there's a lot to explore there and I'd prefer not to spend our  
entire time here in the hospital trying to pigeon-hole you. Particularly if you're only going to  
be here for another week. I am confident enough about the diagnosis of your depression,  
Casey, but beyond that let's just say that you're using some coping skills right now that are  
counterproductive. They keep you from processing the things that are bothering you."

Dr. Spadoni broke off his oration, looking to Casey for some response or  
acknowledgment. He got none, and resumed with a slightly injured air, "I'm talking to you  
now on the assumption that you're listening, because I think you are. So... going back to my  
original question... I want to ask you about last Thursday night, the night that ended with you  
in the hospital. What happened that night, Casey?"

There are bits of a scene lying around... discarded pages describing a hotel room  
tableau where someone is pressed into a corner making a terrible racket. It has to be some  
creature in a trap. _Western Union... take down this message... desperate, desperate  
circumstances, caught in a trap... help me_... Blanche, just before her final demise.  
 _Whoever you are, I have always depended upon the kindness of strangers_... and  
she put her little hand on the leathery doctor's arm and made her final exit. Rather dignified,  
not that horrible fucking noise and stuffing your hands in your mouth to stop it and then  
 _What are you doing here? I'm calling security_ and the animal runs and falls and  
there is almost nothing after that except Zeke's voice, the music of Zeke... _they didn't get  
me, Case... you can trust me... _

"Casey, I'm asking because I'd really like to know. I think it's important to  
establish these facts if we can, for a number of reasons. One of them is a straightforward  
legal one. If there was a crime committed against you we would want to know, so we could  
try to see that the person responsible never did it again."

Blanche had it all wrong. She should have known you could not depend upon  
the kindness of strangers... these people whose faces you were used to seeing but who  
were nevertheless alien, and you usually found out the hard way that they could not be  
trusted. Zeke was the only one who understood that; he understood the lies that hid behind  
faces.

The psychiatrist sighed. "Okay. You don't have to tell me, but just think about it,  
okay, Casey? Whatever it is, we can handle it. There won't be any judgment here. I just  
want you to think about it, that's your homework for tomorrow. I also want to ask you to  
concentrate on the things you need to do to get better, because I know you don't want to  
stay here any longer than you have to. That means eating every meal and talking to me and  
participating in group therapy and learning how to look after yourself. And taking your  
medication of course. It's work, I know, but I have every confidence in you."

While delivering this last speech, Dr. Spadoni got up from his place behind his  
desk and moved around it to perch himself, half-sitting, on it. He was looking at Casey  
expectantly, and Casey eventually comprehended that he was to exit. He got to his feet  
slowly and moved towards the door.

"See you tomorrow, Casey," he heard behind him like a warning.

Allie was outside in the hall and it seemed like the pace was slower than ever on  
the way back, like he was coated in honey that was crystallizing around his limbs as he tried  
to move. He couldn't seem to get moving any faster. He couldn't make the assessment as  
to whether Mike was in their room or not-he didn't see anything but his bed, supple and  
inviting. He staggered towards it, his eyes closing even as he lay down, hugging his pillow,  
cool and white, against his face.

Scene: The patient is put through his paces -- time for a pill, time to eat, time to  
go to group therapy. He does all this but is really thinking about throwing the tray across  
the room and the pill in the garbage and screaming, just screaming not because it serves  
any purpose but because it is mad and infantile and will distress everyone and he thinks,  
maybe next time. The scene features the ubiquitous extra, a little bird named Allie who is  
always chirping, delivering messages he doesn't want... _you have to eat,  
sweetheart_... _time for therapy_... _time for lights out_... . _don't cry,  
sweetheart, really, you'll feel better soon_... _come on, time for a little walk_...

Time to see the doctor again.

"Casey, do you remember yesterday we talked about how following the rules will  
help you to get better? It really would help if you participated in the group. Now, I know it's  
very early on, but try, Casey, please."

He didn't like the characters from group therapy; he much preferred to sit in the  
TV room, alone. In group therapy he played the part of the Mute-a role that was actually in  
great demand among the group members. Circled round him would be the faces of men  
and women, flat, miserable, grotesque, smiling, staring. There was one who spoke  
incessantly, a constant noise when you were trying so hard just to pull that haze around you  
like a blanket. There was one who glared and raged and jumped out of his chair several  
times, making quite a few of the group nervous.

Yes, Casey definitely preferred to be in the lounge-with Zeke, he was waiting for  
Zeke right now, wasn't he? On this theme there were more than fragments, there was a  
whole act that began with him staring at the TV with strangers on all sides of him. Then  
Zeke said his name and he realized that Zeke was standing in the doorway, looking to him,  
just looking and staring and watching. Then Zeke whirled and walked away and he wanted  
to stand up and cry, don't leave me here, please... .don't leave me... but Zeke came back to  
that lounge the next day when there was no one else around and let Casey press right up  
against him, didn't he, and the same the next night even though there were other patients in  
the lounge who stared at them. Zeke came every day and when Casey wasn't in the lounge  
Zeke would find him and be with him and they hadn't spoken a single word, not one word  
since Zeke said his name.

"Casey!"

 _Scene... ? Oh, yes, the doctor's office._

"Hmm."

"How are you feeling today?"

"Kay."

"Allie tells me that you've been doing better generally, but I really would like you  
to try to interact more with the people here... okay?"

Interacting... that must have been something like when he walked into the  
lunchroom and everyone stared, giving him the thrice-over, and he spotted a seat at a table  
where there was no one yet and went there and ate alone. Mike had been at one of the  
tables but Casey pretended not to have seen him. He and Mike had been _interacting_  
plenty though -- Mike was in the habit of trying to involve him in his phone conversations,  
figuring that Casey must be starved for conversation as his parents had not bothered to get  
him a phone of his own and even though Casey was _a shy little guy, aren't you_ he  
must be languishing to give his opinion about orange as opposed to strawberry jello and  
was El Doctoro married or not and weren't running shoes with built in air pockets the only  
acceptable form of footwear --

"I'll make you a deal, Casey. Talk with me, really talk with me for the next... oh,  
let's say twenty minutes... and then you can go. How's that sound? Basic stuff, nothing too  
hard."

"Okay," Casey consented with some reluctance.

"You're nineteen?"

"Yeah."

"Lived in Herrington your whole life?"

"Mm hmm."

"Until you went to college."

"Yeah."

"Which college?"

"University of Ohio."

"Was it exciting, being in the big city?"

Casey shrugged.

"Scary?"

"Yeah..."

"Go on."

"Didn't... see much."

"Why do you say that?"

"Stayed with Roy."

"And... who's Roy?"

"You know."

"I've heard about him from other people, but not from you. Do you want to tell  
me about him?"

Casey shook his head.

"All right... then is there something you'd like to talk about instead? What about  
this summer? You've been staying with your folks?"

"Mmm."

"How's that been?"

He shrugged again.

"Casey. We had a deal. I know you can do this."

"Tired."

"I know. After we're done you can have a nap. Casey... do you remember how  
yesterday I asked you to think about that last night, before you came here. Are you ready to  
tell me about it?"

He saw _a body splayed out on a bed naked, an offering that was on the brink  
of being rejected -- _

"Casey?"

"What?" he whispered. So tired... he touched his face and his hand came away  
wet. He hadn't known that tired could make him cry so much.

"You were out of it just now."

"Oh."

"This fading away is happening because there is something that you don't want  
to think about. To make those episodes go away you have to think about it."

"No..."

"You know, it may seem like you can't handle it, but a part of you, a big part of  
you wants to deal with it. You're fighting to remember, Casey, and I don't mean to scare  
you but you _will_ remember... because you can handle it. So... I want you to tell me  
what you do remember about that night."

 _I remember everything._

"Casey. Tell me something, anything about that night."

"Zeke was mad at me."

"On Thursday?"

"Yes..."

"I understand that Zeke has been coming to visit you every day. And your friend  
Sasha, and your parents. That's good, Casey. Support is absolutely crucial right now.  
Your relationship with Zeke is something that we really should discuss, though. He has  
shared some details about your relationship but I think there's a lot more going on here and  
it's definitely a big part of how you function day-to-day. Why was Zeke mad at you?"

"Because... I did something bad."

"What did you do?"

He examined the textures and striations in the brown leather he was sitting on.

"Casey... help me out here."

Very suddenly, the words emerging clear and crisp and shocking to his own  
ears: "Aren't we done?"

Dr. Spadoni folded his arms, his eyebrows rising. "No, I don't think so."

"Want to go back to my room."

"Not just yet. I want to know what you mean by 'you were bad'."

"Doesn't matter."

He had been bad and Zeke got mad but Zeke wasn't mad at him anymore, not  
really. Zeke would be mad at the doctor, though, if he were in this room right now and saw  
how the doctor was keeping Casey prisoner. He would fashion a smart-bomb and lob  
perfectly-honed words at the bald, sweaty man. Never too many, Zeke did not indulge in  
oratory excess like some people.

"I think it does matter, Casey, a great deal. What did you do that made Zeke  
mad?"

His jaw ached and his eyes were hot and he wanted the Doctor character to just  
shut up. "Roy was fucking me," he spat out.

His vulgarity made no impression. "And Zeke found out. What did he do?"

 _... fuckingiswhatslutscalltherapy... fuckingiswhatslutscalltherapy..._

"Casey. What did Zeke say or do when he found out?"

"He..."

"It's okay, Casey."

"He was -- really angry."

"Did he hurt you?"

"No," he protested, but weakly. He was so fatigued now, there was nothing left  
to do but to answer the questions in the hope that the white coat would get what it wanted  
and leave him alone.

"Casey. This is important. I keep asking you about that night because we need  
to be clear about what happened. Now, I'm going to be very blunt and direct. When you  
were admitted to Herrington Emergency your doctor found that you had recently had sexual  
relations with someone. What he couldn't determine conclusively was whether or not it  
happened with your consent. Now, I believe you when you say you were meeting Roy on a  
regular basis before that. But I'm wondering who you were with that night. If it was Roy,  
that's one thing--"

"No."

"No?"

"No. No. Not Zeke--"

"Okay. There's no need to be upset."

"Not Zeke!"

"Casey. I believe you. Now I'm going to ask something else... did you have  
consensual sex with Roy then?"

"Yes..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he repeated insistently.

"Sometimes, Casey, situations can be deceptive in terms of how we remember  
them. I want you to think carefully about it and be sure."

"Not assault." He was finding it hard to sit still; his feet were climbing up on the  
couch. " _Wasn't_ \--"

"All right. But something happened that traumatized you pretty badly. Do you  
remember what it was?"

"No."

"I think you do, Casey."

"Don't remember... really," he lied, flat and dull.

"Casey..."

His voice crumbled apart. "D-d-don't... re-member."

"You know, Casey, I think we need to talk more about this, but I can see that  
you're really tired. My suggestion is that we start with that tomorrow. All right?"

He managed to get up with his legs shaking and walk the halls to his room  
unescorted. When he got back to his bed his mom was waiting there. He went to her,  
hating himself because he was just using this woman for comfort. "Honey, what's the  
matter?" she asked, pulling him into her body. It was warm, known-the scent of peppermint  
gum and _Chanel_ and her hairspray that had been the same for a decade at least.

"Can I go home?"

"Casey, hun..."

"I want to go home."

"Honey..."

"I don't like it here. Want to go."

"Sweetie, you seem upset, maybe you've just had a bad day... ."

He punished her for that insipidity by rearing back out of her arms and staring at  
her accusingly. It wasn't one of his most mature moments but then those had been few  
and far between lately.

Sasha came through the door, whistling. He took in their tableau and stopped.  
"Hey, what's up?"

Casey rubbed his eyes. "Zeke?" he demanded.

"He'll be along shortly. I caught a ride out with your mom... so you'll just have to  
settle for us for the moment." Sasha smiled hopefully, the smile fading when Casey didn't  
rush to reassure him. "I've been hanging with Allison," he continued, a bit uncertainly.  
"Just chatting, you know..." His voice trailed away. "What? What is it?"

Casey repeated his request. "Want to go."

"Go where?"

Tears, again. The reservoir was never empty, apparently, and most times he  
wouldn't care but he had an inkling that he had to dam them up if he was going to be at all  
persuasive. "H-home," he stuttered.

Sasha and his mother looked at each other.

"Casey," his mother said firmly, "It doesn't seem like the right time. I'm sure that  
after some sleep... things will feel different."

Yeah, this was just the sort of thing he meant... _we cannot depend upon the  
kindness of strangers, Zeke._ They were between him and the door, familiar strangers  
with familiar faces, they wanted to keep him here, to tie him down and make him helpless.  
Trap him with these people who obsessed with what went in and what came out of his body  
and didn't like him to experience anything that was too bright or too intense or  
too... _much_... and plotted how to make him give up all his secrets.

Mike the bipolar roommate saved him then, coming in warbling, "... my heart  
will... go ah-ah-on..."

Scene: The Sasha-and-Mom-Faces turn in the direction of the singing,  
distracted just for a second, and the Extremely Disturbed Mental Patient makes for the  
bathroom, only a few feet away. Within a few heartbeats he is inside, with the door shut  
and locked. He backs up into the nearest wall and slides into a sitting position there,  
listening through the air vent.

"Fuck."

"Casey, honey, open the door."

"Casey, come on, don't do this to me."

"Should we call someone?"

"I'd rather not... ."

"What's he going to do?"

"Nothing... I hope... we can try to talk him out."

"You know, the orderlies probably have keys, Casey, they won't let you stay in  
here. Nice one, though, I never thought to try it myself."

"Would you leave us, please? Um--"

"Mike."

"Mike... if you don't mind... ?"

Casey wrapped his arms around his knees and laid his head down, pushing the  
voices back, out of earshot. Activity outside subsided to a flurry of conversation and  
worried feet shuffling.

Zeke's voice cut through the haze suddenly: "Casey! Open this fucking door!  
Now!"

Not performing wasn't an option, not this time. Casey scooted forward and  
unlocked the door and let it swing open. There was Sasha, his mom, Zeke, and some staff  
with faces that he didn't recognize at all. He got quickly on his feet, having disorganized  
thoughts about running and chasing and tackling.

"Does he need a sedative?" said one of the orderlies, a man with hugely muscled  
arms protruding from his pink sleeve. He took a menacing step in Casey's direction.

Zeke shoved himself in between the two of them. At the sudden motion, Casey  
instinctively shrank back but Zeke ignored it and wound himself around Casey, neither  
asking nor waiting for permission. He directed Casey peremptorily out of the bathroom,  
steering him away from the orderly.

"Come on, Case... over here."

Casey soon found himself sitting on his bed, draped against a large, warm male  
frame. His eyes stung and his ears were ringing but he was enclosed by a hard body -- he  
had grown armour just when he needed it for once and it was now guarding the soft marrow  
that was his pitiful self.

"What the hell happened?" Zeke wanted to know, still using the voice of  
command.

"He said he wanted to leave," said Casey's mother. "I... said I didn't think it was  
the right time and he just locked himself in there."

"Hmm." Zeke smoothed his hand over Casey's back, then up to his neck,  
massaging slowly. "Can you guys give us some space?"

Casey supposed that the others honoured the request. He kept his eyes closed,  
soaking up the sensation of Zeke's hand and the smell of Zeke's aftershave. The deep  
lustre of Zeke's speech where Casey's face pressed against his chest.

"Case... I'm so sorry. I didn't know what else to do. But you were hurt. I had to  
do it. I just hope you'll forgive me."

Zeke sounded like he was close to tears. That didn't happen; Zeke never cried,  
never. It had to be a mistake. Casey shook his head, twisting in Zeke's embrace; Zeke  
removed his arm so Casey could sit up straight next to him.

"I know you hate it here," Zeke said to Casey's face. "And I'm sorry."

He couldn't let Zeke be sad. "No..don't hate it..." he said. That was a slight lie,  
but it wasn't entirely untrue either. The fact was that he didn't think about whether it was  
good or bad a lot of the time which meant that it was mostly tolerable; he was just inclined  
not to admit it but now he had good reason if it made Zeke feel better.

"You do hate it," Zeke said sulkily.

"Don't."

"Do too."

"Don't." He couldn't do a smile, but he imagined Zeke could hear it in his voice.

Zeke sighed. He was looking deeply into Casey's eyes now, in that way that he  
did. "I know you're just saying that because you don't want to upset me, but thanks anyway.  
One of these days you're going to get mad and then I'm going to be in real trouble."

Casey fell back into Zeke's chest, grabbing his nearest arm and pulling it around  
himself. He felt Zeke chuckle a bit and oblige him, enwrapping him securely. Everything  
about Zeke was soothing to him-his stare, his scent, his touch... his demands, especially.

"So what happened anyway?"

Casey shook his head.

"You know, Case, there's nothing I'd like to do more than grab your suitcase and  
run out of here and never come back, but I have to agree with your mom on this one. It's  
not the right time. And as much as I hate to admit it, they seem to be helping you."

Casey was in Zeke's arms and he was content to stay right there, wherever there  
happened to be. Right now it was in a hospital, and that was endurable.

"I have an idea," Zeke proposed. "We could go out of the hospital for a little  
while. Just take a drive. Would you like that?"

Zeke sounded enthused by the idea; Casey mumbled his acquiescence.

Dr. Spadoni was not wearing the white coat today, but a brown dress shirt, open  
at the throat, with beige pants. He was situated as usual behind his desk, even calling out  
his invitation to Casey to enter rather than getting up to answer the door.

"Good morning, Casey," he said, putting aside a file folder he had been flipping  
through and leaning back a little in his chair. "So you went out for a drive with your friends  
last night." The psychiatrist rocked in his chair and tapped his fingers on the desk,  
somewhat agitated. "How did it feel to be out of the hospital?"

"Good," Casey lied.

It had actually been terrifying. It was one thing to want to get away from the  
hospital and another to actually be outside it, but Casey didn't realize that until it was too  
late to go back. Zeke had already made a stink about it with the receptionist, who had  
stopped Casey with a hand on his arm and another on his shoulder and wanted to know his  
name and where he was going. Zeke had appeared quite prepared to cut down the  
interloper if she didn't take her hands off Casey and had reminded her that Casey was a  
voluntary patient who could leave whenever he wanted. In return she got waspish and  
informed Zeke that even so she wanted to be able to keep track of a patient's comings and  
goings so the nursing staff weren't under the mistaken impression that they had lost a  
patient. From there it had degenerated and Sasha had to intervene.

Casey's mom had walked out with them but withdrew in the parking lot saying  
she had to head home, looking shaken and uncomfortable. She had seemed hesitant with  
Casey, afraid to touch him, and he had found it in himself to close some of the distance  
between them, relying on her to do the rest. She managed, kissing him on the cheek, and  
telling him she would be back the next day, and he wasn't so anxious that he couldn't be  
glad of that.

Then Zeke, Sasha and Casey were in Zeke's car and it was-not good, but  
better. Casey sat in the back seat and enjoyed the air on his face. It was not as hot as it  
had been when he was last outside; the heat wave had come to an end at some point during  
the past week, while he was lying in his stupor.

They were only gone for an hour but when they got back to the hospital Spadoni  
was waiting, and he looked extremely displeased. Casey was sent to his room and Zeke  
and Sasha were called into Spadoni's office. Casey had fallen asleep almost immediately,  
unable to help it, and he didn't know when Sasha and Zeke left or what was said. A claim  
that the outing had been enjoyable struck Casey as the appropriate expression of loyalty  
under the circumstances.

"Casey, I do want to caution you against too much, too soon. Don't push  
yourself. There's plenty of time to go for drives... and to spend time with Zeke."

"Okay," was the response of least resistance. He asked himself idly if Zeke  
would want to go out again tonight. Probably, yes.

"I'd like to continue where we left off yesterday, discussing your relationships  
with Zeke and Roy. I appreciate that you may feel some anger towards me for pushing you  
to talk about this. That's perfectly okay and I hope you will express that anger to me when it  
happens."

Casey kept his eyes on the brown leather couch, tracing the abstract figures on  
it with his index finger.

"Why don't we talk about Roy for a bit since he's been such an important factor  
in your life?"

He gave a nod, his attention on the patterns under his hand.

"What was it like, with Roy?"

That question brought about a well-deserved silence.

"Casey. Try, please."

"It's... too much."

"All right. Am I correct that you were with Roy the entire time you were at  
school?"

"Mostly."

"So you were... seventeen? When you met him?"

"Yeah."

"And how old was he?"

"Twenty-seven," Casey sighed.

"That's quite an age difference, especially when you were only seventeen. How  
did you meet him?"

Casey evaded with, "Didn't Sasha tell you?"

"I got Sasha's perspective, yes, but I haven't heard all the details, and not from  
you. I know that Roy was one of your teachers. What do you think the world at large would  
have to say about your relationship with him?"

That was close to laughable-if he could laugh.

"They would disapprove, wouldn't they? Let's see, teacher and student, that's a  
definite no-no. And he was almost a decade older. And, of course, you're both male-did  
you know you were gay when you met Roy, Casey?"

"Pretty much."

"So that wasn't an issue for you."

"No."

"But it was for Roy."

Casey was silent.

"So it had to be a secret, right? _You_ were a secret."

Why did the man have to ask questions he already had all the answers to? "You  
know all this," Casey complained.

"But I want to make sure that we understand it, Casey. I'll bet if we were to  
canvass the entire two years with Roy it would turn into a long list of hurts and  
disappointments. Oh, I'm sure it started out okay. You were starting college a year early,  
you were lonely, and he was genuinely interested in you. The age difference didn't matter  
because you were mature for your years, weren't you? But even so, all of these things  
made Roy nervous about your relationship. He kept you hidden. Maybe he resented you  
because if anyone found out all the blame would fall on him. And you learned, gradually,  
that you didn't have a voice, that you didn't exist except for Roy. The more you gave, the  
more he took, am I right?"

"Yes," Casey admitted, seduced by the psychiatrist's complete grasp of the  
dynamics of his relationship with Roy.

"And then something happened at the end of this past term?"

"He... told me he didn't want to see me... any more."

"Why was that?"

"He was getting married."

"How did that make you feel?"

He shrugged.

"Were you angry, Casey?"

"No."

"Not at all? This guy you'd been with for two years suddenly announces he's  
going to marry a woman and you felt nothing?"

"I don't... I didn't feel angry."

"Did you feel something?"

"Hurt, scared..."

"What did you say to him?"

"Begged... told him 'you love me'. He _did_ love me, he did--"

"Why would you try so hard to keep someone who didn't want you?"

"I... I.."

"Take your time."

"... was so scared... of not being with him. It was like... I had no choice."

"Why do you think that is, Casey?"

He had to say something, so he said, "I don't know."

"I think you do know, Casey. I think you've known all along what you were doing  
to yourself but you didn't want to stop-basically because you were afraid of the alternative."

"Don't want to be alone."

"I understand that, Casey, I truly do understand that. Everyone feels that way  
from time to time, but in your case it's become something extreme... so extreme that you put  
up with abuse and bury your anger until it makes you sick. I'm going to have to ask you to  
trust me on this one, Casey-it's good to be alone sometimes. When you know how to be  
alone, being with other people gets better. And I'm going to go out on a limb and even tell  
you I think it's a good idea not to be in a romantic or sexual relationship for a while."

Casey let his face morph into a scowl at this.

Dr. Spadoni chuckled. "You don't like that idea."

"No."

"Why is that? Other than the fact that you're a nineteen-year-old male, of  
course."

"Zeke."

"Zeke." Dr. Spadoni sighed deeply. Did he intend for his patients to see his  
personal feelings, Casey wondered, or did he believe that he was doing a good job of  
disguising them? "Casey, do you think that maybe there is something about the way you  
relate to Zeke that is similar to how you related to Roy?"

Casey rejected the suggestion. "No."

"Of course it isn't completely the same. What I'm suggesting is that you're  
following a pattern that feels very comfortable to you."

"Zeke's different."

"Are you sure? I've been told that during the last year or so Roy was not very  
kind to you, Casey, that he took out his anger on you. And then you tell me Zeke was very  
angry with you and I'm wondering if he's more like Roy than you want to admit."

"No, he... it wasn't.."

"Yes?"

"He -- was right to be angry."

"Surely people make mistakes."

"Yes..." Casey answered, confused.

"You were sleeping with Roy even after what he did to you and lying to Zeke  
about it -- and that was a mistake. A very human mistake. Does it make it all right for Zeke  
to hurt you?"

"No!" cried Casey. "He didn't."

"Did you defend yourself at all when he found out?"

"No, he... I was... I lied to him."

"Did you explain why you lied?"

Casey shook his head. "No-no excuse--"

"I'm not saying what you did was right. But you don't always have to be perfect,  
Casey. It's human to be selfish sometimes. It's okay to ask for another person's  
understanding when you screw up."

"He -- Zeke -- he's still here." Not angry anymore, he had told Casey-but Casey  
didn't let himself think about whether Zeke had in fact forgiven him.

"Would you agree with me, though, that you have a tendency to put Zeke's  
interests first, to let Zeke have his way, to excuse his mistakes and not your own?"

"But--"

"Just like you did with Roy?"

Casey didn't answer.

"Do you think that's something you need to address?" the psychiatrist pressed.

"Guess so." He heard his own sullenness and didn't care much.

"I'm sure that it is very comforting, even addictive, to be subservient, Casey. It  
can also be a very effective way of being in control, up to a point. I say up to a point  
because it never works in the long run. And if the person in charge is not generous, or  
cruel, then you're in big trouble, Casey. I want to suggest to you that there are reasons why  
you act this way that aren't about feeling good, but a long-established pattern of protecting  
yourself from things that hurt you. If you have no needs then you can't really be hurt, can  
you?"

"Suppose."

"But it did hurt when Roy dumped you, when he treated you the way he did, and  
it did hurt when Zeke got angry at you -- perhaps fairly, perhaps not. You'll have to figure that  
one out, but to do that you have to be prepared to make demands as a person in your own  
right." Dr. Spadoni was evaluating, measuring Casey as he described exactly where Casey  
had gone wrong, how he had been botched, and there was nowhere to hide from it. "Let me  
ask you this, Casey. If what you have with Zeke is as real and fulfilling as you want to  
believe, why were you spending time with Roy?"

He was barely conscious of tears sliding down his cheeks. God, he was tired of  
crying; he was tired of himself, actually.

The psychiatrist spoke very gently. "It's hard to talk about these things, isn't it?  
They've been all tangled up in your head and when you try to pull on one thread the knot just  
gets tighter, right?"

Casey nodded.

"That's pretty normal, Casey. You'll probably find after a few weeks on the Paxil  
that you can think more clearly. For now, just go with whatever pops to the surface and let  
me guide it. I don't expect perfect sentences or concepts right now. And if you have a  
feeling... if you're sad, or mad... just go with it."

"O-kay." Casey wiped at his eyes.

"I know it's frustrating."

"It's like... everything... coated in mud..."

"I know. Let me give you a little bit of scientific data. You're a science guy,  
aren't you? When you're depressed specific chemicals in your brain, particularly seratonin,  
are all out of whack -- that's a technical psychiatric term, by the way."

Casey was surprised to hear a small giggle. That was himself, that little,  
nervous sound.

"That's why it's hard to sort everything in your head, Casey, why you can't  
concentrate, why nothing feels good. People describe it as everything being flat, feeling  
nothing much of anything even when it's things that you know you love. There's usually a  
decrease in sexual drive as well. Plus the anxiety. Depression and anxiety often go hand in  
hand. In your case, I think the anxiety's been with you longer than the depression."

Spadoni put down his paper and pen, signalling the end of the torture.

"You've done very well today, Casey. You can go and relax now... it's over."

Zeke was standing at the window, his back to them.

There was no little degree of Stanley Kowalski in Zeke. Different from Stanley in  
the way he used his brain, but he had the same absolute connection to his body too. He  
inhabited his body entirely and was completely in his head at the same time. A  
contradiction, to be sure. And then there was Blanche, who was a mass of contradictions.  
At times she seemed so very conscious of what she was getting wrong, how she was  
contributing to her own misery, and what was needed to stop it. And yet she careened  
blindly to the end, as though self-awareness was pointless. _Straight? What's 'straight'?  
A line can be straight, or a street. But the heart of a human being... ?_

"You missed a good flick the other night, Casey," Mike was holding forth, lying  
on his stomach on his bed, supposedly reading. The phone was actually somnolent for  
once. "Ba-dum-bump, ba-dum-bump... when the moon hits yer eye, like a big pizza  
pie... .that's amore... good flick."

"Oh, 'Moonstruck'!" Sasha chimed in. "I love that one too. You've probably seen  
it a bunch of times, huh, kitten?"

"Yes," Casey replied, eyes on Zeke's back.

"Don't bother with him, Casey," Sasha said, his voice tight. "He's grumpy today."

Zeke whirled around. "What did you say?"

"I said you're a grumpy gus. Deal with it."

It wasn't often that Zeke was at a loss for words. He glared at Sasha, trembling  
with rage.

Sasha relented first. "All right, all right... you've had a bona fide bad day." He  
turned back to Casey. "Our boy's discovering that life out of the closet isn't all pride  
banners and Broadway musicals."

"Whatever," Zeke growled. He obviously had a lot more to say but was not going  
to say it now. "Case, let's go for a drive."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Zeke," Sasha said very pointedly,  
coming as close to hostility as he ever did.

"I think it's a super fucking idea," Zeke snarled.

"Er, um..." Mike interjected, sounding jittery. "I'm out of here." He scampered  
out the door, as much as a man his size could ever scamper.

Sasha waited until he was gone and then said, "The doctor gave us enough shit  
already last night-"

"Gee, I'm so anxious to have this conversation for the tenth time," Zeke said, his  
words drenched in sarcasm.

Sasha disregarded this. He addressed Casey earnestly. "Kitten, what do you  
think about mixing a bit with some of the people here? Your doctor is worried that you rely  
on one or two people for your emotional needs, and he's right about that. At school I think  
the only people you ever talked to were me and Roy, and maybe your lab partners. It's no  
wonder then that you were devastated when Roy wanted out. You don't have to run for  
Congress -- but you could try talking to a few people."

Casey knew that anything he said would be weighed against his devotion to  
Zeke -- who was watching him steadily, ready to judge the exclusivity of his commitment.

"What do you think?" Sasha pushed.

He had to fight to get a few words out under Zeke's intense stare. "I -- don't know  
them."

"That's just the point, Casey. You told me you didn't have friends, but you have  
to _make_ friends, you know? I know that you have it in you -- I mean, you decided that I  
was going to be your friend and then you made an effort to talk to me. And voila, here I am."

Zeke was stalking closer to them, looking like he was about to pounce.

"Don't look at _him_ , Casey. You can do what you want."

"I... know that," he muttered, his voice wavery. "But-I-"

"You would rather hang with me and Zeke?"

He nodded.

"I get that, I would rather hang with me too. But you have to be out of your  
comfort zone sometime, kitten."

"Yeah, but..."

"What's so scary about it?"

"Can't, you'll think I'm... ."

"I promise I won't."

Casting an uneasy glance in Zeke's direction, he breathed, "Worried... what  
if... they might be -- one of _them_... ."

Zeke took swift action. He looked quickly out at the hall to determine who might  
have heard and quickly shut the door. Then he returned to hover over Casey and said  
urgently, "You can't say that to anyone else. Do you realize what could happen?"

Casey realized perfectly well.

"In fact..." Zeke added with a strangely agitated expression, "If Dr. Spadoni tries  
to bring up the subject, you should avoid it."

Casey assured him, "I don't want to talk about it."

"That's good. Go with that."

"Let me get this straight," Sasha said, sounding odd. "You don't actually believe  
that everyone is an alien, do you?"

Casey hung his head a bit. "No... but... but... they might be..."

"Oh, kitten--"

Sasha moved to hug him, but Zeke got there first and batted Sasha out of the  
way. "So do you want to go, Casey? For a drive?"

It was a demand and a plea at the same time, containing that truth that Casey  
could never ignore, never close out of his awareness: Zeke needed a Casey, just like Roy  
had needed a Casey. It was something that the doctors and the Sashas never understood.  
Once these men chose to claim him -- _if_ they chose -- they had nowhere else to go to  
feel good. That was the only real power that Casey knew and it was addictive but he had  
absolutely no intention of kicking the habit because the alternative was too empty and  
terrifying to consider... Dr. Spadoni wasn't wrong about that. He just didn't know the half of  
it.

"Yeah," he agreed, "I want to."

This time when they walked past the receptionist she simply glared and  
scribbled something on a piece of paper in front of her. Zeke didn't so much as look at her,  
or anyone else actually, striding regally out the front door without apparent concern for who  
was following him.

As before, Casey sat in the back seat, and it was feeling much more  
uncomfortable than the previous evening because this time it seemed like they were going  
quite a distance. Zeke had taken an exit out of Whitby and now he was on a secondary  
highway heading into the distance. Houses were less frequent, the scenery more rural.  
Casey hadn't paid attention and didn't know what direction they were going even, and now  
was experiencing the curious realization that he truly wanted to go back to the hospital  
because there was something tranquillizing in the absolute lack of expectations there.

"Zeke," he heard Sasha murmur in the front.

Zeke did not answer.

"Zeke," Sasha said, louder now.

"What?" Zeke snapped.

"This isn't the time. Turn around."

"It feels like the right fucking time."

"It's not. Pull over."

"Nope."

"Pull over -- now."

At last Zeke did as he was told, pulling over at a small roadside rest that  
conveniently appeared. He sat gripping the steering wheel ferociously and staring out the  
windshield. He was breathing hard. Sasha was speaking softly, things that Casey couldn't  
hear over the roaring of panic in his ears.

"I wasn't actually going to..." he made out eventually.

"Well, the rest of us weren't so sure."

Abruptly Zeke pushed his door open and got out. He prowled back and forth on  
the gravel drive, pacing a twenty foot line to the left of the car. Sasha twisted around and  
grinned wistfully at Casey.

"It's okay, kitten. Mr. Manly just needs to blow off some steam." Sasha bit hislip, considering. "Casey, I probably shouldn't tell you this. We've been debating it the last  
couple of days and he didn't want to stress you out any more than you already are and I  
guess it's too late for that, I'm doing it right now by not getting to the point, aren't I? Okay."

Sasha held out his hand as a substitute for the hug he was unable to give and  
Casey took it, bemused.

"People in Herrington are giving Zeke a really hard time right now is all and he's  
more used to rose petals and women falling at his feet, you know? He's handling it -- he's  
amazing, actually -- but some things happened today that got to him bad. It isn't because  
he's come out, Casey, but that, well... there are lots of rumours flying around... in relation to  
you. Some people think that Zeke was the reason you were in the hospital... you'd be  
shocked at how many defenders you have, kitten, people who don't know you from a hole in  
the ground. They just like to pass judgments." Sasha snorted in disgust. "Crowd  
mentality. I half expect them to show up at Zeke's door with torches and pitchforks."

Casey heard this, but he was mainly following Zeke, back and forth... back... and  
forth. Zeke was a predator with nothing to hunt, every muscle in his body taut. The  
essence of him was _need_... need for another creature that would _be_ for  
him -- give itself up to him. There had to be some doubt in Zeke's soul as to whether Casey  
could be that because Casey had screwed up, given up part of himself to someone else  
and that was unacceptable. It was all or nothing.

"You should be proud of him, kitten," Sasha added, suddenly, observing Zeke  
with open fascination. "The guy may waffle a bit until he makes up his mind, but once he  
does, he stays the course. He hasn't backed down, not once. He tells whoever wants to  
know that he's with you, and he sounds happy when he says it."

They both stilled as Zeke stopped pacing, right beside the car. Opening the  
driver's side door, he bent and flipped up the back seat. "Casey, I need to talk to you."

"Zeke..." Sasha groaned.

Zeke barked, "You shut up." Then, more neutrally: "Casey... ?"

Casey shook his head.

"Casey, for fuck's sake... look, if you really want me to I'll come back there and sit  
with you, but nothing bad is going to happen if you come out here." Zeke held out his hand  
and grinned, switching into a goofball charm. "You don't want me to spend the next year in  
traction, do you?"

Casey took the proffered hand and let himself be extracted from the back seat.

"Stay here," Zeke commanded Sasha. "This is private."

He didn't let go of Casey's hand and they walked out of listening distance from  
the car, to the edge of the roadside drive overlooking a green field. Despite everything  
Sasha had said, despite his words to his psychiatrist and his own private insights, Casey  
was choking on dread. First and foremost Zeke needed to escape and he was going to  
escape, with or without Casey. Probably without.

"I was going to just keep on driving," was the first thing Zeke said. The volume  
was turned way down; the words barely seemed intended for Casey to hear. "Just go." He  
frowned then upon seeing that Casey was quaking with tension and fear. "Case -- ?"

 _Don't leave me, please..._

"What are you thinking?" Zeke looped a casual arm around his shoulders and  
rubbed his back. "That I want to go somewhere without you? Ain't gonna happen, Case."

"But-but-you're--"

"Shh, just breathe. Tell me slowly."

"You're -- going to Seattle... you... University of Wash... Washington."

Zeke's hand stilled. Casey closed his eyes, fearing what was coming next.

"How did you know that?" Zeke whispered.

"Sorry--"

"No sorry. How did you know?"

"S-saw the cal-calendar..."

"Shit," Zeke swore. Then his hand was on Casey's other shoulder and he said  
quietly, "How long have you known?"

"Dunno... .a while."

"I see," Zeke said heavily. "Is that why you were... seeing Roy?"

Casey forced himself to look at Zeke and found that Zeke had most definitely not  
forgiven him.

"Is it?" Zeke pushed. "You saw the calendar and thought I was going to leave?"

"No-no... not... really," Casey stuttered, unable to meet Zeke eye to eye any longer  
than that. _And yes._ Roy had been giving him something he needed to survive,  
something that Zeke had refused him.

"No," Zeke echoed. "So it had nothing to do with it?"

His hand on Casey's shoulder was beginning to feel like a claw, talons almost at  
the point of bringing retribution in red liquid form.

"I'd like an explanation," declared Zeke with brittle patience. "Maybe not now, I  
understand it's probably too soon to expect one. But I need one, Casey. I'm going to ask  
again." Claws sheathed, he was using both hands to try to smooth the tremors out of  
Casey's shoulders. "I'm not going to think about it now. I do wish you hadn't found out  
about my plans for college the way you did."

"I didn't mean to, I-"

"No, I'm the one who needs to apologize for that. I should have talked to you,  
should have told you so you didn't have to walk around thinking I was planning on sneaking  
out on you. I came to a realization the other day, Casey. I haven't been trusting you."

There it was -- Zeke couldn't trust him. It was over.

"There's something I've been waiting to say this to you. I wanted to say it days  
ago but I don't think... I didn't think you were ready to hear it."

 _I've been trying to find a way to tell you... you don't fit in my life anymore,  
Casey... _

Something ruptured and the usual, stupid, broken words began to dribble out of  
him: "Don't-don't leave m-me, please, I... I'll do an--" No, that wouldn't work, Zeke didn't like  
that. "I'll b-be good, p-promise-please don't--"

"Case--"

"Never-anyone-else-never-hurt-you--"

Zeke put a hand over Casey's mouth, which certainly didn't help him to get more  
oxygen but did quiet him instantly. "Shh," ordered Zeke.

Taking his hand away, he began to speak. Casey couldn't hear, didn't want to  
hear... but steady hands were still working at soothing him and gradually, the actual words  
began to filter through his panic, a radio broadcast that was gradually came into tune:  
"... going to Seattle... you're... with me... .not staying here and you're not going back to  
Cincinnati where that Roy shithead can get to you. You back with me now? I said I'm going  
to Seattle and you're coming with me. Hear me?"

He was listening completely.

"I'm making this decision for you, Casey. You can get mad at me for it later, and  
you probably will, but I don't care right now. Right now you don't have any say in the  
matter."

All had become very, very quiet. His mind and body were still.

"So, this is the deal," Zeke said, cupping Casey's chin, speaking intently to him.  
Zeke's eyes were nearly glowing with purpose, fixed on his face, laying claim to everything  
they touched. "You can stay in the hospital for another week or so, getting stronger. Then  
we're going to pack your stuff and head out west. You decide what to tell your parents.  
When we get to Seattle we'll crash with Stokes and Stan for a while, then we'll find a place.  
I'm going to take philosophy and you can finish off your physics degree there or you can  
start something new if you want. I'll pay for it, I don't care, I want you to do what makes you  
happy. Okay?"

Casey nodded. He was warm and safe, for the first time since... since forever.

"But there are rules, Case. You're going to eat and take your pills like you're  
supposed to, and when we get out there we're going to find you a therapist -- a good  
therapist -- and you're going to go for as long as it takes. That's non-negotiable. Say 'yes,  
Zeke'."

"Yes, Zeke."

Zeke put his mouth near Casey's and whispered, "That's it, yeah... .fuck, that's  
one of the best sounds I've heard in a long time."

His breath was hot, raising the hairs on Casey's neck. He seemed to be  
intending a kiss so Casey strained in that direction, but Zeke had moved on, sighing into  
Casey's ear. A moist tongue tormented the delicate cartilage and soft lobe, dipping inside  
once, twice. Casey tilted his head to give Zeke better access to that side of his neck and  
Zeke took advantage, working his way along the slender muscle that ran from the edge of  
Casey's jaw to his collarbone.

Casey didn't feel aroused, not at all. His skin was hyper-vigilant, cataloguing the  
sensations on behalf of his body which had minimal interest in the goings-on. It didn't  
matter, though, because there was still the relief of being held and touched and what he did  
feel, what he knew intimately, was the utter imperative to give Zeke whatever he wanted. If  
Zeke wanted to pull off his clothes and fuck him right here, he would let him do it and rely  
on his body to perform appropriately, as it always did. In fact, it was beginning to feel like  
that was not out of the realm of possibility. Zeke was feeding at his throat, pressing his hips  
and erect cock up against Casey. "Feel that?" Zeke murmured.

"Yes." He hoped that Zeke was too excited to notice that there was no hardness  
on his partner's side.

"That's for you." Zeke had returned to the vicinity of Casey's mouth.  
"Remember it... because they're going to say I'm bad news. But you know what you  
want... don't you?" Suddenly Zeke delved right in, applying fierce and gentle suction to  
Casey's lips, nibbling on the bottom one briefly, then pulling away. "Yeah... I am bad news  
aren't I, but I know what you want... what you need..." Finally, he firmed his mouth against  
Casey's, thrusting with his tongue, kissing so deeply, so completely that Casey began to get  
dizzy. He lost all sense of anything but Zeke's mouth-until Sasha honked the car horn.

Zeke tore himself away. He looked dazed, flushed, gasping for breath as Casey  
was gasping.

Sasha honked again, somehow conveying his fury through the horn. Then  
Sasha was out of the car, glowering. He marched up and grabbed Casey to steer him away  
from Zeke even though they would have gotten there on their own soon enough. "What the  
hell's the matter with you?" Sasha snapped at Zeke.

Casey came along without protest, touching his lips wonderingly. They were  
burning. He stumbled a little and Sasha's hands steadied him. Then he was in the back  
seat again with no sense of time or distance or direction, only the wind and Zeke's presence  
that were his universal constant.

"I really wish that you would respect my advice on this matter, Casey." Dr.  
Spadoni was staring intently at him. "And not just for your sake. For Zeke's too."

Casey blinked at the doctor. He had wakened this morning with something very  
near a smile, and from a sleep that felt more restful than any so far this summer. He could  
still, almost, if he really concentrated on it, feel the imprint of Zeke's lips, and he walked  
around barely aware of his surroundings, imagining the day when he would be back in that  
car with Zeke and no one would be watching them and he would finally belong to Zeke  
completely... "Um... .what did you say?" he asked.

"The magic word, apparently," returned his psychiatrist. "`Zeke'."

This time he _did_ smile. "Yeah..."

Dr. Spadoni was frowning with displeasure. "But you didn't hear the part you  
don't like."

Casey was in a mood to indulge the man. "Which part?"

"That there is risk for both you _and_ Zeke in this. He comes here and asks  
you to go out for a drive with him and you go because it's what he wants. You keep doing  
things like that and at some point he's going to wonder if you've ever been honest with him,  
or he's going to realize that he doesn't know anyone named Casey. No one really wants a  
relationship where the other person just gives them what they want, one hundred percent of  
the time. That's the trap. You think you can keep them by giving them everything but they  
stop being able to notice it. It starts to feel like you're giving them nothing and they may be  
terribly lonely even though you're right there giving everything you've got. Do you want to do  
that to Zeke?"

"No," Casey allowed, although he didn't really accept that logic.

"What every human being wants, Casey, is genuine, intimate contact with  
another human being. The paradox is that to achieve that feeling of oneness, you must  
have what we call ego integrity. That means boundaries, Casey. It's fun to play at losing  
them, but you really lose them and pretty soon you two won't recognize each other. Are you  
following me?"

"Sure," Casey replied. He wrapped his arms loosely around his knees and  
stretched his neck a bit. Shrugging on his best sultry tone, he purred, "You know... you're  
really good," hoping it would have a diminishing effect on the frequency of the man's  
lectures in psycho-dynamics.

"Are you trying to flatter me, Casey? Because it isn't necessary."

"Oh... I know."

Dr. Spadoni actually glared at him. "I don't think you're even trying to listen,  
Casey."

"I am. Really."

"Well, then... my point was that you're not only hurting yourself, you're hurting  
Zeke. I say again, do you want to do that to him?"

Casey ran his fingers across his mouth, briefly. "Love Zeke."

"And so you pretend to want something you don't want."

"You don't know what I want."

"That's true. I'm glad you said that, Casey. You asserted a right to your own  
feelings there. You need to do that more often -- which is why it's advisable to back off from  
any intense or sexual relationship right now."

"You don't like Zeke," Casey challenged.

The doctor rolled his eyes and fidgeted with some papers on his desk. "It's not  
that I don't like him. I don't know him, and whether I like him or not is irrelevant because  
you do like him. My problem with Zeke has to do with what's best for you, it's not personal.  
I'll bet when you're with Zeke you find it difficult to distinguish between what he wants and  
what you want, am I right?"

"But you don't think-"

"I don't think he's good for you, not right now. I'm not talking theoretically here. I  
see things in your behaviour this morning that trouble me. You're practically euphoric and  
I'm sure it's because of something Zeke said or did last night. What would you do if things  
changed... if Zeke was angry at you again, or if he decided to leave you?"

"He won't," Casey said uneasily-but he had a razor-sharp memory of Zeke's  
face when he tried to understand Casey being with Roy and piling lie upon lie about it.

"You don't think it's possible?"

"No... .don't want to talk about this."

"We need to talk about this Casey. You could be out of here in a few days and  
our focus must be the things you do to look after yourself. We need to start building those  
coping skills. I know I sound like a broken record... but I truly believe your relationship with  
Zeke is unhealthy. I'm not saying that to blame anybody -- the fact is that _any_ kind of  
sexual relationship right now would be unhealthy."

"Zeke needs me..."

"I know it feels like--"

" -- and I need him."

"No, what you need is to stand on your own, to step back and know who you are  
without him, or Roy, or any man. And you particularly don't need to be with a man who is  
trying to control you, who openly refuses to respect your boundaries, who has even  
constructed your identity for you in the past!"

That last part didn't jive. He didn't particularly want the details, though-not that  
he was going to be spared hearing them.

Dr. Spadoni closed his eyes and sighed. "I apologize, Casey. Obviously I do  
have personal feelings about this. I've had a couple of conversations with Zeke now and we  
do seem to clash about things. I shouldn't let it get to me and I shouldn't interfere... except  
that I have a very specific reason to be concerned... that you're spending time with Zeke. It's  
a difficult topic, though. It's... it has to do with that event three years ago... the one that got  
you on magazine covers."

The dregs of last night's warmth were sucked out in an instant. "Don't," he  
whispered tiredly.

"It's important, Casey. We've been dancing around it since you got here."

"Leave it alone -- please."

"We should try to talk about it, because it has everything to do with your  
relationship with Zeke. Trust me on this."

He wasn't supposed to talk about this, but he couldn't help saying, "You don't  
believe us so there's no point."

"'Us' meaning you and Zeke?"

A shiver of nerves through his stomach bore witness that the doctor was getting  
ready to hit him with Something Big. The shiver mutated into a full, bodily vibration. He had  
not spoken about this with anyone since the day, three years ago, that he had told Roy the  
full story, and even that had been all externals, nothing of his ongoing feelings about it.  
Occasional references to "that business" by his parents didn't count and Zeke's recent  
efforts to get him to try had been stillborn because he. Didn't. Want. To talk. About It. He  
couldn't, especially now, after... no, mustn't, couldn't, didn'twanttotalkaboutit.

"I remember all that fuss," the doctor went on. "I must admit I've had some  
academic curiosity about the incident for years... even thought about writing a paper on it.  
But my interest is not just academic."

... _of course it's not academic... they got you... you were one of them --_

"I'll bet right now you're probably thinking you can't trust me with this topic -- but  
you can. You're safe here, Casey."

Casey was on his feet. "No," he blurted, defiant, shaking.

The psychiatrist did not remark on his apparent intention to bolt. He said, mildly,  
"It must be scary, thinking that anyone -- any person at all -- could be the enemy."

Casey didn't answer, eyeballing the door for distance. He could get there quickly  
if he had to... but he was unexpectedly lured by the tantalizing suggestion of understanding  
about fears that had been living inside him for years now.

"What do you think might happen?" asked Dr. Spadoni casually.

He heard himself talking like someone else actually was in control of his body.  
"They c-could be... anyone."

"Like me?"

For a heartbeat he gaped at the psychiatrist, feeling himself teetering on a brink.  
"Yes," he wept at last, succumbing to trembling knees and collapsing back onto the couch.

"Go on, Casey. Tell me."

"They have... long... tentacles..they... get inside like that."

"Tentacles," the doctor echoed neutrally, writing.

"Mary Beth... she was the queen... once they get inside no tentacles, look just  
like... normal."

"What does it feel like when they get inside?"

"Don't know."

"I don't think I quite believe that, Casey. You act like someone who knows  
intimately that what you fear."

The voice was compelling. Like _hers_ had been. And he was trained to  
surrender. "Yes," he admitted.

"Go on."

"It's... it's... they-go-in-in-side... you can't stop them... making you..."

"So it's like being violated..."

"... but then you... you don't want them to-to stop..."

He felt something on his arm and recoiled. Spadoni was sitting next to him now,  
trying to touch him _just like they had done to Nurse Harper in the lounge, they had forced  
her down on the couch and put that thing in her_ and Spadoni was in between him and  
the door.

"Casey, I'm not going to hurt you. You're ... very upset... and I just wanted to offer  
comfort."

"No... t-touching."

"No touching, I swear it. I'll just sit here at the other end of the couch." Dr.  
Spadoni waited, perhaps for him to calm but must have seen that it wasn't going to happen.  
"Take some deep breaths. In... out... that's good. And again."

The man was still too close. "Go sit at your desk," Casey stipulated, testing him.

"All right. If that's what you want. This fear can't hurt you, Casey. You won't die  
from it, just like you won't die from remembering." Dr. Spadoni returned to his usual chair.  
"I do appreciate you staying in this room, Casey. It shows courage and trust. I respect  
that." Steepling his fingers... ."You told the press three years ago -- that you killed the queen."

"Yes... killed her."

"But you still have fears that there are aliens among us. Wouldn't it be a great  
relief to know that there aren't any aliens, that you're safe?"

"Never safe," he muttered.

"From being hurt by other human beings, no. But I have to be honest, Casey,  
and tell you that I don't remember anything happening to me like what you describe."

And just like that the offer of understanding was withdrawn. It had to have been  
a tease, bait to get him to open up and reveal his insanity.

"Just think about it, Casey. If it had happened like you said, wouldn't there be  
other people in this town experiencing the same kind of anxiety and stress that you do?  
Wouldn't someone be willing to step forward and say, 'yes, I remember'?"

"They all lied... everyone... ."

"And I'm lying now?"

He didn't answer.

"Isn't it a bit improbable that a whole town would be conspiring in this big lie?"

Again, he didn't reply.

"When it comes right down to it, Casey, it doesn't matter to me that you believe  
aliens invaded our town. People all over the world believe things like that. But my problem  
is this: I think that story is a cover for the things that actually happened to you, from last  
week and going back three years ago. They're the real reasons why you don't feel safe."

Dr. Spadoni's voice grew thick and intense as he warmed to his topic.

"Let me tell you about a colleague of mine. Her name is Dr. Allen and she's a  
specialist, if you want to call it that, on alien abductions. She's interviewed hundreds of  
people who claimed to be abducted and found they all had very similar memories, like  
shadowy figures that performed invasive experiments on them, and so on. And in many  
cases it turned out that those memories were a distorted account of sexual abuse, usually  
repressed from childhood. Now, I'm not saying your situation is exactly like that. What I'm  
suggesting is that your memory of the aliens is possibly a screen for some other trauma or  
a bunch of traumas that are haunting the edges of your memory."

Having pronounced this hypothesis, Dr. Spadoni tapped his fingers together and  
waited for Casey to accede to logic.

"No..." Casey denied. "Zeke was there, he can tell you."

"Yes, we're back to Zeke now, aren't we?" There was open dislike in the  
doctor's voice, thinly glazed by solicitude. "Here's the thing that concerns me. What if my  
theory is right and Zeke is actually preventing you from healing by encouraging you to  
believe in aliens?"

"Wh-what?"

"Zeke told me that there were some boys who used to bully you in school."

"Um..."

"He said it was ongoing and pretty severe. He said that you were scared most of  
the time. Is that true?"

... Zeke, leaning in for a kiss, whispering _you're brave... did you know  
that... ?_

"Casey. Don't bail on me now. Tell me... is it true, what Zeke said?"

The doctor seemed to have a hold on the place the words came from now, and  
was pulling them out of him... like that film they showed in school about the shaman who  
would yank sickness out of people's bellies and it looked like long, bloody ropes torn from  
them. "Yeah," he admitted, just beholding what was coming out of him, watching the  
grotesque revelations with no inkling of how to stop them.

"Does that sound like trauma to you?"

"But... I remember it..."

"Isn't it possible that there are parts of it you don't remember?"

"I don't... understand."

"When did the bullying stop, Casey?"

He had heard _that_ accusation before. "After the aliens -- but I didn't make  
them up."

"I believe that _you_ didn't make them up, Casey. But what if that story was  
something you came to accept as true, something you needed to be true?"

His eyes were hot and gritty. Surely the shaman must be finished with his  
performance, but no, he was still pulling hand over hand, hands full of bright red, sickly  
entrails.

"Casey?"

"I'm... I... want to lay down."

"Keeping secrets on yourself is tiring."

"There's-no--" he laboured for air -- "... no secret... I want to go back to my room."

"Not just yet." The doctor was watching, pulling..."I'll make my point and let you  
be, Casey. What I'm getting around to saying is... Zeke told me something else when I  
talked to him. He confessed something to me. I hadn't intended to share this with you  
because I didn't think it was a priority, but now I see that it's all linked... the alien story, your  
relationship with Zeke and your difficulty in maintaining boundaries. We won't fix it today,  
but I need you to understand why you should keep a comfortable distance from Zeke."

He could barely breathe; convulsions were beginning to form in his throat.

"Zeke is very protective of you, Casey. He told me how distressed he was that  
you were being hurt constantly by those other boys... and then he told me that he made up  
the alien story sort of by accident -- but then it turned into a way to help you. People left you  
alone because they thought you were a bit dangerous, but it was really just a story."

"Don't... under... stand."

"Zeke made up the whole story about the alien invasion, Casey, and you've  
adopted it somewhere along the way as the truth. He explained it to me."

"Zeke... wuh-wouldn't."

"He did. I'm not lying, Casey."

"Stop... shut up..."

"I swear this is what Zeke told me. So you see... there were no aliens. It wasn't a  
deliberate attempt to hurt you. He meant well, but he didn't expect you to believe it like you  
did. He's been carrying this around for years now, afraid to say anything I imagine and he  
told me now only because he knew that I needed to understand in order to help you--"

One final tug and his guts were lying on the floor, his belly gaping empty --

Casey shot up from the couch, aiming for escape -- but there seemed to be  
something wrong with his feet. And while he was trying to find the door, he couldn't see it.  
He couldn't see anything. His hands found hard wall but could make no sense of it. He  
scrabbled, searching for an opening, a way out.

"I'm not judging Zeke." The voice sounded right in his ear, distorted and loud.  
"He was trying to protect you in his way... but you see why there should be a certain distance  
between you two right now?"

"Let-let me-let me -- out."

Weight fell on his shoulders, restraining him. "It's all right, Casey."

He moaned it: "Let me out, please..." He struggled against the confinement and  
if the voice said any more he didn't hear it, he heard only a terrible noise a little bit like that  
trapped animal had made in that other scene but more broken now because the creature  
couldn't breathe, he was sobbing for air. The weight on his shoulders forced him down.  
His face came to rest on hard, smooth... the floor, he knew the floor. He clung to it while  
heavy hands rested on his back, ready to press again if they needed to.

"It's all right, Casey..." with a sorrowful lilt.

A door sound, a whoosh of colder air on his face and the little bird chirped,  
"Tony, what... ?"

"Allie, could you... one hundred... chlordiazapox-"

 _... jacket, doctor? Not unless necessary... ._

More doors opening and closing. A stinging in his arm.

"What happened?"

"We... discussion... trauma..." The words trickled away.

"Hey, Case? Casey? You wanna wake up?"

Zeke was sitting next to his bed.

Casey struggled to lift his head. His mouth was glued shut, and there was crud  
like small chunks of rock accreted in his eyes. "Mmmh."

"You've been in that bed quite a while," Zeke said. "Case? You gonna get up?"

He dragged himself up. His body was a bit stiff again. "... what?"

"Spadoni," Zeke said and made two words of the name, _spa_ and  
 _doni_ , like he wanted to spit on the man. "He said you had a rough session and he  
had to sedate you. That was yesterday. You were right out of it when I showed up last  
night." Zeke shifted uncomfortably. "You said stuff to me... that didn't make any sense."

"I... last night?"

"I'll tell you later." Zeke switched gears. "Did you sleep all day today?"

"... don't think so." Now it came back to him... he had been lying there drifting in  
and out. He couldn't be bothered to respond to his parents or Allie. He didn't eat and Allie  
had used all kinds of threats but he had figured out that they could be ignored quite safely a  
lot of the time. Refusing to perform was the only power he had and he would use it as  
needed.

His legs were like overcooked noodles as he got to his feet. Zeke rushed to help  
him up; he shoved off Zeke's hand. Everyone was always so eager to help him up after  
they pushed him down. Maybe Zeke was hurt by his rejection-but it could also be a ploy to  
get under his guard. Too late, though, Zeke was already there, inhabiting his very centre.  
There was nothing he could do. It was so perfectly fitting that after all that drama he had let  
the enemy slip right inside him without so much as a twitch. Funny.

"You're giving me some look there," Zeke said.

"Gotta brush my teeth," Casey muttered, stumbling towards the bathroom.

He went into the bathroom and locked the door. Bracing himself on the sink, he  
looked at himself in the mirror and was amazed to see a person who resembled himself as  
far as he knew... _brushing his teeth... washing his face... curious..._

"Casey?" Zeke called through the door, sounding nervous..

 _Zeke told me... there were no aliens... he made them up..._

How had Zeke sounded when he said that? It couldn't have been that same  
voice.

"Casey!?"

He unlocked the door and opened it. Outside there was a face he trusted.  
 _Would_ trust, even if it brought him to the demise that he feared.

"Where's Sasha?" he asked.

"He's at home," Zeke supplied. He bit his lip, charmingly insecure right then.  
"It's just me this afternoon."

Uninvited, Dr. Spadoni poked half of his body into the room. "Casey... I was  
coming to check on you. I'm glad to see you're up." He glanced at Zeke. "Good afternoon,,  
Zeke. I suppose you want to go out and take Casey with you."

"Maybe I do. You got a problem with that?"

"That's up to Casey, of course."

"I'll bet you're hungry," Zeke said to Casey. "We could go grab a bite."

Two faces, two sets of eyes with barbed hooks digging into him, two sets of  
demands.

There was no choice.

"Okay," he consented, averting his face from them both.

Lee's Chinese, it was, in Whitby. Nothing very original about it, but there was  
something comforting about steamed rice and neon pink sauce. They took a booth and  
were served by a tiny Asian woman who looked no older than eighteen. Casey ordered  
Number Three. Zeke ordered Number Six and a pot of tea. Casey kept his head down,  
fiddling with his wooden chopsticks.

"Case... what's wrong?"

He didn't look up. "Nothing."

"Liar," Zeke returned mildly.

A bubble of black goo rose up and situated itself at the back of his throat. He  
swallowed furiously. It had to go back down, it had to. Nothing could be gained by it. Of  
course Zeke did things because he thought they were right. He never meant to but still he  
did things, he did things and left everyone flapping about scurrying about behind him trying  
to catch up, to cope... to forgive because it was much better for Zeke to be in charge you  
wanted him to be in charge so you shouldn't be angry you weren't angry-

There. It went away, down, leaving only the consciousness of being in Zeke's  
orbit.

"Something's going on with you," Zeke whispered, sounding irritated. "What-"

The waitress showed up with Number Three. Casey set to it with the firm  
concentration that eating always seemed to require. He followed the precepts of Allie, his  
trainer in this field of endeavour. Cut two three... bite two three... chew two three...

Zeke wasn't going let it go, though. He didn't take a bite of his own food, just  
slurped tea for a bit before setting the tiny cup down with a clink that could have taken a  
chip out of it. Casey lost the mouthful of rice he had cradled in his chopsticks.

"Last night," Zeke started in, "when you were... when I came to visit and you were  
drugged... you said something to me."

Panic hit the ground running.

"I wouldn't make a deal out of it except it's kind of bothering me."

"It was nothing," Casey mumbled. He reset his grip on the chopsticks and  
collected a piece of chicken, took a bite out of it, silently pleading that Zeke would want him  
to focus on eating and give up the interrogation.

"Then you remember-?" Zeke pressed him.

"No."

"Can I tell you what you said?"

He shook his head, but Zeke ignored it.

"You looked right at me for a second, and you said, 'you put me in the closet  
again'. Why would you say that, Casey?"

Casey put down his chopsticks and cradled his stomach in his hands. There  
was food in his mouth that tasted like ashes stuck together with grease... he grabbed his  
napkin and gagged the food into it. For a few cold seconds he thought everything else he  
had consumed was going to follow that bite on the way out. He pressed his hand against  
his mouth and fought it down, hearing far away on the edges of a white haze: "Casey... it's  
okay, I'm stopping now... I'm stopping--"

"No," he whispered, tears squeezing out the corners of his eyes because he  
couldn't even understand himself, not at all.

"Excuse me." Their waitress seemed to be standing there. "Is the food okay?"

"Yes," he heard Zeke say from afar. "Please... leave us be, he'll be fine." A  
sinuous motion was Zeke sliding in beside him. "Casey... don't go anywhere."

Zeke's arm enclosed him, rubbing, rubbing his shoulder and as always the  
contact soothed him. Slowly his breathing evened and he slumped against Zeke. _Take  
me back,_ he begged in his head. _Obviously I belong in that place, not here with  
regular people. I'm tired, too fucking tired for sweet and sour chicken and fried rice._

"I'm sorry," Zeke said softly in his ear. "I'm sorry."

"Kay."

"I'll shut up now."

"Kay."

"Do you want to finish your food?"

He shook his head.

"Come on, Case. I hate to think you were about to eat this whole plate of food  
and I wrecked it." Zeke's hand was big and warm and strong against his neck, squeezing  
his shoulder gently.

 _there are rules... you eat and take your pills and be a good boy and you can  
come with me... _

"Okay," he sniffed. He pushed the soiled napkin out of sight and picked up his  
utensils. His hands were shaking too much for the chopsticks; he had to use the fork  
instead. Zeke stayed right next to him the whole time, making sure the nutcase didn't snap  
and do himself more damage.

"Do you want to go back?" Zeke asked when they were back in his car.

Even a nutcase could see that Zeke was hurt; it hurt Zeke that Casey couldn't be  
normal around him, that attempts to treat Casey like the coherent person that Casey should  
want to be met with disaster. That Casey couldn't tell him to piss off but instead would  
resort to the cheap manoeuver of throwing a fit in public.

"No," Casey replied, as sanely as he could manage.

"Well... we'll just go for a little tour about, how about that?"

It was quite late -- sunset, and it was spectacular. At its most perfect, the sun  
just on the edge of the horizon splitting the light into a panoply of reds, oranges and pinks  
over the remains of a deep blue and a smattering of white clouds. Zeke must have been  
feeling uncomfortable, for he actually commented on it. "Look at the sky," he said.

"Nice," Casey said.

Zeke looked pained; his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

"Casey," he said after ten agonizing minutes.

"Yes, Zeke."

"If I've done something wrong... I want you to tell me. You believe me, right, that I  
want you to tell me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"You can be mad at me, it's okay."

"I know."

"Casey -- would you just-fucking stop it already and tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Casey's heart was ticking down to an explosion and he didn't  
think he would survive it. He tried to take a breath, and gulped. He tried again -- and again.  
"Just tired," he got out, and heard himself sound more normal.

"Do you want to--"

"No," he said quickly. He added, "I want to be here with you," which was the  
truth even if it wasn't.

Aimless, they drove around Whitby while the sun went down and it became dark.  
Casey slid into a half-sideways position, watching Zeke in profile as he drove with well-delineated, competent motions. Both windows were down and there was a potent but warm  
breeze through the car that was whipping Zeke's hair up and sideways and back. At one  
point Zeke lit up a cigarette and Casey watched him smoke, fascinated by his casual fuck-you elegance, with one hand lifting the cigarette to his mouth, holding it, drawing it away and  
then smoke issuing from his nostrils in the semi-darkness. Right about then Zeke glanced  
over at Casey and his intent, low-lidded gaze punched Casey in the gut.

They were pulling into a small park that ran along the river through the middle of  
Whitby, lined by tree-shrouded parking slots. It had to be Makeout Central; there were  
several cars lined up, silent and motionless, but not a live body in sight. Zeke turned off the  
motor and just sat silently for a full minute before turning to Casey with naked hunger  
written in his eyes and mouth and hands.

It wasn't very long before Casey was straddling Zeke in the driver's seat,  
ignoring the frequent collisions between his lower back and the steering wheel as Zeke  
plundered his mouth, crushing Casey's skull against his own with one hand while the other  
arm encircled Casey like a band of iron. Eventually he had Casey forced against the driver-side door, humping with uncoordinated, desperate necessity, unable to find a satisfying  
level of friction until Casey unzipped him and took him silky smooth and burning in his hand  
to help him finish. The last few thrusts sent Casey's head into the metal window frame  
while hot liquid spilled over his hand and onto his clothes.

Casey returned to the hospital late with come stains on his shirt, his lips swollen  
and chapped from prolonged rubbing against Zeke's stubble. Zeke escorted him in and left  
him at his bedside. Empty and confused now that Zeke was gone, Casey rolled into his bed  
and clutched the sheets up under his chin. He could not retrieve the amnesiac happiness  
that came so easily when he was in contact with Zeke. He tried to find it, calling forth the  
scent of Zeke and the taste of him and the lines and planes that made up his face -- but at a  
distance it all smelled and tasted and looked sickening.

The next day he stayed in bed. He didn't go to the doctor's office, he skipped  
group and classes and lunch and pretty much everything that he could skip. He idly  
followed the twittering of the nurses trying to bother him out of bed and his parents'  
attempts to make conversation that gradually subsided into a resigned silence and the up  
and down and sideways of Mike's endless telephone conversation. When the sound of the  
chatter became unbearable, Casey pulled the covers over his head even though it was still  
nearly broad daylight outside and managed to shut it out until the next time Mike decided to  
try to get his attention.

"Hey, Casey, you coming to movie night?"

Mike's voice was bright and for the first time Casey actively hated him. By this  
time it should have been perfectly obvious to Mike and everyone else that Casey was not  
going to fucking perform, he was not going to participate and they should have known better  
than to ask --

"Okay, I'm going... maybe I'll see you there." Mike called. As if he expected it  
mattered to Casey. "Oh, hi, guys... don't even try to talk to him, he's having a black day."

Casey clenched the covers in his fists.

"Hey, Case."

"Hi, kitten. Bad day, huh?"

He couldn't quite bring himself to hide his face from them; he pulled down the  
sheet until it came just up to his neck, suddenly remembering that he was still wearing the  
same shirt from last night. He didn't want Zeke to see; Zeke would then come to the  
inexorable realization that his lover was even more of a freak than previously suspected.

Half an hour later Zeke and Sasha gave up trying to coax him out of bed and just  
sat with him in silence for the remainder of their visit.

Through the sheet, Casey watched the light go down and the dark rise.

When the light grew again, Allie came with the big guns. She had two orderlies  
with her and was prepared to use them. Casey knew he was not going to win; he threw off  
the covers and dragged himself into the bathroom for a shower. He washed perfunctorily,  
dressed in the same sweats and a fresh t-shirt and took his time getting to Spadoni's office.

Spadoni was standing at the door, clearly impatient to get him inside. "You didn't  
show up yesterday."

"Mm hmm."

"Why was that?"

"Didn't feel like it."

The psychiatrist sighed, long and soulfully. "Sit down, Casey, please."

Casey sat, hearing the door close, not watching as Spadoni walked back to his  
usual place. Unusually, they sat in a total silence for several minutes.

"You look like you didn't sleep last night, Casey," ventured the psychiatrist,  
breaking the quiet.

"Un huh."

"You know, Casey, I realize you are a voluntary patient here and we have no right  
to hamper your coming and going, but you had a lot of people worried the other night. We  
thought you were just going for supper and you came back after ten o'clock. I expect an  
apology."

"Sorry."

"All right, I'll assume that was more heartfelt than it sounded. And I must ask  
that in the future if you want to leave the premises for a while, please consider the feelings  
of the staff here."

"Okay."

"I've asked you for an apology and now it's my turn. I'm sorry for the other day. I  
misjudged how upsetting that information would be for you and I'm sorry."

"Fine."

"It's not fine. But we make mistakes and we move on, right?"

"Right."

"I still think my goal was correct, though, Casey. And I find it interesting that you  
chose to go out with Zeke the other night. In light of what I told you. Did you ask him about  
the stuff that you and I discussed?"

Casey was silent.

"Casey... are you still intending to leave the day after tomorrow?"

"You going to stop me?"

Spadoni reared in surprise. "Of course not. But I'm asking because, quite  
frankly, I'm concerned about your state of mind right now. It wouldn't hurt to stay another  
week, perhaps--"

"No."

"All right, that was clear enough." Spadoni shook his head, making a show of  
regret. "You have a great deal of work ahead of you but you don't have to live here to do it.  
May I ask where you're going to go?"

"My parents."

"Not to stay with Zeke, then. I admit I'm relieved." After a pause, Spadoni  
added, "Although I imagine you'll be seeing him every day regardless."

"Do you want to know what we did after supper?"

"You seem angry today, Casey."

"And you seem very interested in what we do, doctor. If you wanna know... we  
got nasty in his car. I brought him off while he humped me into the steering wheel... I have  
some new bruises -- would you like to see them?"

"I don't need those kind of details, Casey."

"But you'd like to hear them, wouldn't you?"

"Is this your way of distracting me from a more meaningful topic?"

"Not at all. You said I shouldn't pretend with Zeke, now you know I wasn't  
pretending. I get off on it, doctor. I can't wait until he fucks me, I love having a man's dick  
stuffed inside--"

"Casey. If you think you're punishing me somehow for what happened, you're  
mistaken. You're only hurting yourself by treating yourself this way."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it, doctor. In fact... would you like a little taste? We'll  
have to keep it a secret from Zeke but I have lots of practice at that."

"Casey, stop it. You want to prove that my advice is falling on deaf ears... fine--"

"I'm very good, you know."

" -- but I think you're trying to avoid-the topic of Zeke and aliens and the fact that  
you're furious at him. You want to switch off your brain and go on with your little fantasy, be  
my guest. But you'll end up back here sooner or later. Do you want that?"

Silence.

"Do you?"

"No." Casey could hear how small his voice sounded.

"All right, then. Let's get down to the real business at hand. We were  
discussing your memories of alien invasion."

"I would rather not."

"If we only stuck to the topics you want to discuss, we wouldn't have much to  
talk about."

Casey pressed his lips together, not sure if the noise he was suppressing was a  
wail or a scream.

"So what do you think?"

"About what?"

"Do you still insist that your memory of aliens reflects something real?"

"I don't know, okay?"

"Well, that's a start."

Shit -- he shouldn't have said that; he had admitted that he couldn't be sure of  
anything and he had lost ground. Backtracking, he argued, "I remember it all... so  
clearly... what she looked like. How scared... I was..."

"False memories are just that, Casey. False memories."

"But I had scars -- on my face-from where they hit me."

"Who hit you?"

"There were these... like slugs... trying to get in. They started to burrow in  
and... she was screaming."

"Who?"

"The queen. I got her in the eye. It must have hurt her so much. All she really  
wanted was a home... ."

"You sound guilty when you say that, Casey."

"I had no choice... I had to do it."

"I think we need to explore this more. Now, I don't think for a second that you  
were directly responsible for the disappearances of Mary Beth and Principal Drake -- but is it  
not possible that you're carrying around a load of guilt for something that happened and  
that's why you need to believe that these people were alien creatures from outer space, to  
justify whatever it was you think you did?"

" _No_ , I told you..."

"A moment ago you just admitted to me you're not sure anymore about your  
memories."

"Why can't you just let me believe what I want?" Casey burst out.

"I could, Casey. It's not hurting anyone -- except you."

Could it have been an illusion? He could no longer deny it was possible, but if it  
were the truth, what then? He would have nothing. Not the event that defined him, and not  
Zeke either. Therefore, it must have happened, because he couldn't survive without Zeke and  
Zeke only loved him because he was the _other_ that gave up being  
 _other_... because he was alien. And since it must have happened --

He couldn't be having this conversation.

"I think," he said, trying to sound calm, "I'd like to go now."

"At the very least why don't you ask Zeke about his version of events?"

Casey moved in preparation for standing up. "I want to go."

"Stay where you are, Casey."

It was an order. He had never disobeyed an authority figure before; he was  
paralyzed.

Spadoni said, "We still have a half an hour."

"It-it doesn't matter... won't help," Casey stammered.

Spadoni had never left his place behind his desk, regarding Casey intently. He  
launched into another speech with, "I'm very disappointed in myself, Casey. I fear I've  
allowed our discussions to get a bit adversarial. That's really not the optimal way to work  
together... although we needn't always agree one hundred per cent either."

Raising his head, Casey pushed the words out with a traitorous mouth that was  
doing what it could to sabotage him. "I... don't want... to... to discuss the aliens... with  
you... anymore."

To his eyes, Spadoni didn't react. "I hear you, Casey. I"m quite happy to let the  
subject drop -- for now."

"Ever. Not discuss ever."

"I don't see how we can avoid it, Casey."

"I'm... I'm leaving." The words emerged with something that sounded close to  
resolve.

"Not now, Casey, we need to talk."

"Leaving the hospital."

The doctor got quiet for a bit; that must have been a surprise. But he recovered  
quickly and returned, "It's not a good idea, Casey. I'm sure you feel like you're ready, and  
you are stronger, no question, but I think if you're honest with yourself you'll admit you're  
still shaky. You spent yesterday in bed, Casey."

"I can lie in bed at home."

"What about what happened four days ago? You couldn't continue our session  
because you were so agitated. I had to sedate you, do you remember that?"

Oh, yes, he remembered the scene well. Decisions made for him, information  
pressed upon an already overused brain, heavy hands on an overused body. Trust me, I  
know what you need. Open up. Spread 'em. Swallow. _This_ was the Life of Casey  
Connor, stripped of all the tired, theatrical devices. Before he knew it he was on his feet  
and he was almost shouting--"You're not helping me!"

"I'm sorry that you feel that way. Casey, all I'm asking for is a few more days.  
This is a pivotal time. You've been feeling a lot of things, emotions are coming to the  
surface... like anger... you're angry and you're not thinking clearly."

Spadoni's calm only made Casey more angry, if it was indeed anger that he was  
feeling. Whatever it was, it made everything easier. Words were coming from him just like  
they sometimes had in the distant past and he didn't even want to stop them. He declared,  
"You think you know me but you don't know me. You don't _get_ me."

"Casey -- you're lashing out at me and I'm not the one you're angry with. You  
want to leave now, play happy with Zeke... it's not going to work. I know your head is filled  
with fantasies of how it will be but reality isn't like that. Are you even prepared to confront  
him about what he told me?"

"Zeke lied to you is all."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Whatever the truth is, Casey, I don't think you've had  
an honest conversation about it with Zeke."

"He wants to help me... everyone wants to help me. So he lies, everyone  
lies... _you_ lie."

"I?" Spadoni snorted a little, trying to laugh. "I wouldn't lie, Casey."

And Casey understood how to shut this man up once and for all.

He approached the doctor at a slow glide, sidled around the desk and stood  
where no one ever stood. "Yeah, you do. You just don't know it..."

"What are you doing, Casey?"

"You know what I think?" he said softly. "I think you do remember being with  
 _her_. You wake up in the middle of the night crying because you seem to have lost  
something but you don't remember what it is." He drifted closer... he rested both hands on  
the armrests of the doctor's chair and leaned down. "I think you hate me for taking it away  
from you."

Their faces were a few inches apart.

"Casey, this is not acceptable behaviour... step back..."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, doctor, I'm just going to jog your memory  
a little. Remember how it felt? No fear, no pain... no more fighting for acknowledgment  
because you work in a silly little hospital in Ohio... .she showed you something beautiful,  
didn't she, and you can't bear to remember."

"Casey... stop this."

"What am I going to do to you, doctor? You have all the power here."

"You've been victimized, and now you're acting out... you're just hurting yourself."

"But you just don't know, do you? I spent time alone with her, Tony. I was with  
her again not too long ago. You have no way of knowing..." Casey closed the final few  
inches and breathed in the man's ear. "Maybe I _am_ her, doctor."

Spadoni came up out of his chair, pushing it back and shoving Casey away from  
him as he took several steps. He came to a stand still, his face grey, his chest heaving.

"You remember now?" Casey said, feeling the words coil and resonate in his  
throat.

"Casey... listen to me. You're not well."

"I know that, doctor. But you can't help me."

Rasping breaths. "I... agree with that."

"I'm going now." Casey walked to the door. Just before he stepped out he half-turned and said, "You go ahead and write that paper about me if you like."

The next thing he was aware of was throwing up in the bathroom, kneeling  
beside the toilet, trying to stop heaving.

"Hey, Casey-"

He flipped around, sitting down hard on the bathroom floor. Mike was filling thedoor, looking uncertain and a tad sqeamish.

"You okay? You need a doctor?"

 _Apparently, yes... that seems to be the consensus_. He giggled and half  
choked, breaking off into a strangled noise.

Mike continued to look uneasy.

"No," Casey out. "No doctor." He wiped his mouth and made himself move, to  
flush the toilet, to stand up, to brush his teeth. Leaving the bathroom, he saw that Mike was  
still there, wanting to be helpful.

"Mike, can I... could I use your phone?"

Mike got a lot brighter. "Sure, Casey! Here you go, and I'll leave you alone."

"It's okay... .thank you..." He punched Zeke's number, his fingers almost missing  
the keys at times.

"Zeke Tyler."

"Zeke."

" _Casey_?" From the sound of it, Zeke was imagining nothing less than the  
apocalypse at hearing Casey's voice on the phone. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just... will you come and get me?" His voice went high at the end, as  
emotion threatened to break through and make mush of coherent speech.

"Um... get for a ride, you mean?"

"No." He patted the soft goo back into recognizable sounds. "To go home."

"Casey..." Zeke's mind could be heard clicking away. "What's happened?"

He asked that as though he didn't know, hadn't lied... no. Mustn't think... would  
not think...

"Casey!" Zeke hollered in his ear.

"It's okay," he replied. "But I'm leaving, I can't stay here."

"It's not that I don't want to, Casey -- fuck, there's nothing that would make me  
happier, but--"

"I want you to come and get me," he interrupted, much louder than necessary,  
clutching the phone so hard his hand was aching. "Please, Zeke." He had lowered his  
voice, slipped into a mode of persuasion that would be more recognizable to Zeke.

"All right," Zeke agreed, sounding breathless, stunned. "I'll be there in less than  
an hour."

Fighting to remain collected if not calm, Casey set about packing his little  
suitcase. He decided to sit out in front of the hospital, just to be safe because anything  
could happen in an hour. They could slap another three-day hold on him if they wanted  
to... but in actuality they only stopped him long enough to ask him to sign a couple of pieces  
of paper. He seated himself on the bench out in front, rested his suitcase on his knees and  
his hands on top of it, watching for Zeke.

A movement at his left made his head snap up.

It was Spadoni, holding out a slip of paper. "Take this please."

"What is it?"

"A prescription for Paxil, for six months. Get it filled and keep taking them. If  
you have any symptoms that distress you, get to a doctor quickly. I don't expect there will  
be any, you've been taking it for almost two weeks now. If after two months nothing's  
changed you'll need to discuss alternatives with a doctor."

He accepted the scrap. "Thank you."

Spadoni appeared to be searching for words. "Casey. I'm just going to say one  
more thing. Find another therapist... someone you can work with."

Casey gazed at the road, silently intent that Zeke would appear.

"Will you promise me that, Casey?"

"Promise," he grunted.

"Thank you." His former psychiatrist cleared his throat, about to say --

Zeke's Mustang roared into view and within thirty seconds was pulling to a stop  
right in front of them. Zeke must have broken several laws to get here this quickly; he  
reached across his own seat and pushed the passenger-side door open for Casey. His  
face shone with twenty emotions at least.

"C'mon, Case," he urged, acknowledging Spadoni with a nonchalant and  
victorious expression.

Casey wasted no time getting in, still holding his suitcase. He reached to close  
the door but unexpectedly Spadoni put his hand on it and held it open.

"Take care of yourself, Casey. And I mean that literally."

Spadoni shut the car door for him.

  



	7. Chapter 7

Every once in a while Zeke's conscience did not object to a little gloating. Just a glance at Dr. Anthony Spadoni, a brief bit of silent contact between them while letting a half- smirk play upon his lips, and Zeke was beyond happy. Oh, to be the one who took Casey away from Whitby Psychiatric Hospital forever, and to do it literally in front of Spadoni, and at Casey's direction too... It didn't get much better than this.

But savouring the moment took Zeke only a few miles down the road. The exhilaration was withering as Zeke began to suspect that the person beside him was not the same person that he had delivered into the hands of the doctors twelve days ago. Zeke had not made the mistake of thinking that a Casey who had begun the process of healing would not also be changed. But this...this was someone else who looked and sounded like Casey, possessed of all Casey's attributes, and presumably his memories – but a stranger. A stranger whom Zeke had helped to create.

Over the past several weeks Zeke had become accustomed to seeing emptiness in Casey. For too long Casey had been a wraith – obviously hurting, yes, but faded and consumed from within by the many monsters that he was exerting all his will to keep within. Anyone who looked at Casey two weeks ago might have readily identified him as ill but would have been unable to say much more than that. Not so, now. At some point over those two weeks, all the demons had come out to play and were clamouring and flailing right there in Casey's eyes, straining to see the light of day, and he was still squandering his energies to keep them down – but they simply would not be subdued any longer. They were on the verge of breaking through, whether Casey wanted that or not, and Zeke supposed that this had to be a change for the better. He only hoped they would survive it.

"So what happened?" he ventured after a couple minutes of charged silence.

"They couldn't help me," came Casey's answer.

This was barely even Casey's voice. The tone was soft and flat like it had been all along, but like his eyes, it harboured all the things that needed to get out.

"I think the hospital did help you some, Case," Zeke said, wanting to give credit where credit was due. "What made it so important to leave now?"

There was a long, long wait until Casey finally decided to respond. "Spadoni...kept trying to tell me I shouldn't be with you, that... it's sick."

Zeke didn't think he was entitled to comment on that. "Hmm," he said.

"I know what I want," Casey muttered. There was something in him that warned Zeke not to approach, to keep a careful distance.

"I don't doubt it," Zeke answered neutrally.

Casey squirmed, embracing his knees and remaining in that pose with his eyes trained on Zeke, who received the distinct impression that he was being dared to say something about Casey putting his feet on the seat.

"What's the paper?" Zeke asked, for lack of anything else to say.

"Prescription."

"We could get it filled..."

"Mom – she'll do it."

"So you – you want to go home home. I thought, maybe–"

"No."

Just like that.

"Okay." Zeke drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and considered apologies.

At the forefront of a host of recent transgressions was his failure the other night when they had been alone in the Mustang. Zeke had thought himself well-acquainted with the nature of his passion for Casey; it was a mania that needed only a tiny touch of Casey's hand or eyes to leap out of his control. Still, nothing prepared him for the moment when Casey nearly threw himself into Zeke's lap, kissing him with such fervency that to pull away would have been an act of violence. And when Zeke had mustered up the will to withdraw and Casey had made a noise that would best be described as terror, Zeke knew he was lost. He had tried one more time, actively attempting to separate them, and the response was a soft wail of desperation and longing and fear and – rage, he realized now, it had been rage -- that terrified Zeke in turn. So Zeke did not resist further and Casey had then easily reduced Zeke to a state of frenzied dependence where he was only dimly aware that he was almost crushing Casey against the steering wheel and then the door, probably hurting him, and just for one nanosecond as he came in Casey's hand he hated Casey for bringing them to this, destroying his innocent, high-school fantasy that went back three years now, of the two of them together in the Mustang.

"Can we have the radio on?" Casey asked suddenly, and turned his whole body in the direction of the window in a most blatant plea to be left alone.

"Sure," Zeke said, swallowing his feelings about it. He was practised at that by now. He switched on the radio; an old rock tune poured into the silence.

 

In the beginning, Zeke had congratulated himself on how very well he was coping. He was managing everything quite well – and there was a little bit of everything to manage. Betrayal, guilt, anger, discomfort with his new sexual identity, and permeating it all the fear that he had lost control of the situation irreparably and just didn't know how bad it was yet. But he was postponing really feeling any of this, using a kind of reverse self-affirmation: I'm not guilty, I'm not angry, I'm fine. As long as he could expect that his own mess would someday receive its due attention, the chant was effective.

Then as the days ticked away, other thoughts began to creep in. Like he really could use a fucking break. Like maybe he should check into Whitby himself because it must be really, really nice to exist in that carefully controlled environment where no one criticized you if you slept most of the day, where your meals were brought to you and there was nothing to do but reflect and rest and stroll around the park.

He knew these thoughts for what they were – typical, human -- and subjugated them ruthlessly. He had wanted something apart from the ordinary, he reminded himself, and it couldn't get more extraordinary than this: Driving back and forth between Herrington and Whitby on a daily basis, doing almost nothing else unless it was the completion of a step that would get him and Casey closer to Seattle. It was like time had broken and stopped, suspended in a frozen state that would shatter the moment he finally caught that exit west. Back-and-forth between home and hospital, smashing, flattening down those moments of resentment, crushing them under his wheels. But like all weeds they would find a way to come back.

A lot of that time in the car had been spent contemplating that surreal clarity he experienced on the first day, when he confronted the essence of Casey in the TV lounge. He figured he had to have been in an altered state of consciousness just then, even while believing himself to be of perfectly sound mind. There was no other explanation for that moment of perfect understanding in which messages from his body and brain crashed together to give him a singular insight: He had never really seen Casey before, not until this abrupt encounter with a self that sought identity by giving itself away. Yet having achieved this moment of revelation, he had then turned around without a word to Casey – proof of how very far from common sense he was at that time – and gone home and slept for sixteen hours. It occurred to him later that his great epiphany might have been the product of simple delirium; even so, a part of him would continue to cherish the residue of his original vision, clinging to it like some mad desert prophet, hiding it from his own reason. The core of it was impervious to logic.

Some people with a lot of degrees on their wall would call it dangerous. Sure, he could see where they were coming from and in the middle of the night he would lie awake and agree with them. None of which altered the truth: Casey had placed himself in Zeke's care. It would not always be this way. Casey would wake up one morning and decide that it wasn't true anymore, but for now it was true, because Casey wanted it to be. Zeke could not and would not expose that delicate trust to anyone's judgment, particularly Spadoni, who had made it his personal quest to excise Zeke from Casey's life. Thus Zeke drove to Whitby every day and spent mostly silent hours with Casey, curled with him on a couch or a bed, whatever was comfortable at the moment. Neither of them felt the need to speak. Zeke understood that the moment he tried to describe this it would vanish, as it was a thing wholly elusive, fragile – and temporary.

So on the first day he had built a wall around those feelings of having merged completely with Casey, to shut out and ignore everything except their connection. Inevitably, as the days passed that barrier began to fail, and he had to face everything that was happening outside of it. To the good people of Herrington, he was the enemy – and for precisely the same reasons that Spadoni considered him the enemy. It seemed that everything about his relationship with Casey was wrong.

On the second day, he discovered that a stoic calm had its uses. A town that had once bathed Zeke in the gentle warmth of admiration and approval now apparently hated his guts. But he was prepared to ignored that as long as they maintained their hatred at a reasonable distance from him.

On the third day, he was forced to give up the Jam. His server – not Anne that day – took open delight in serving him an inedible breakfast. His toast and bacon were burned and his eggs were runny. He could have fought for his favourite meal, but there really wasn't any point as he was going to be leaving town very soon. Inevitably, bridges would get burned.

On the fourth day, a couple of Zeke's part-time sales staff – pimply fifteen-year- old boys not exactly overflowing with intelligence -- had quit, citing a preference for employment at the Multiplex and the Gap. He knew it was actually fear that his gayness would rub off on them and demolish their social standing, and it didn't concern him. Much. It was a little bit tougher to take the mistrustful glances of Petra, who kept looking at him as though he were some predator that would pounce if they were alone together for more than thirty seconds. This despite the fact that she had known him for two years and had always been quite comfortable with him before now.

On the fifth day, his mother called.

On the sixth day, he abandoned the high road. He announced to Petra that, rather than selling the sporting goods store, he would be closing it altogether, and spent a good part of the day with his lawyer signing papers. Any remorse he might have felt about putting Petra and the others out of a job was easily counteracted by his outrage at their small-mindedness. He had thought better of them.

By the seventh day, Zeke constantly had his hand in his pocket, compulsively fingering his keys. The trunk of the Mustang had received more than half of his belongings. That was also the day that he arrived at the hospital and discovered that Casey had locked himself in the bathroom. In a way, it was what Zeke had been expecting. He pushed aside a perverse sense of grief, reconciling himself to further acts of separation.

 

Sasha and Casey's mother– newly discovered compatriots in adversity – were being completely useless, wringing their hands and trying to coax Casey out. Zeke knew that Casey wouldn't be persuaded. These days Casey's world was all or nothing and Zeke didn't feel like waiting for everyone else to figure that out, particularly the hospital staff. Zeke issued an order and got results.

The suggestion that they go for a drive was impulse, fuelled by desperation; after prying Casey out of the bathroom, Zeke couldn't condemn him to endless corridors of pastel sameness and the repetitive, patronizing insights of a self-important doctor. And it did seem like Casey found some enjoyment in their brief excursion, although he sat in the back seat with his hands folded in his lap and didn't say a word and had no interest in getting out of the car when they stopped at a corner store to grab a soda.

Casey was nodding off on his feet when they brought him back in. Zeke was feeling almost equally fatigued, but that was immediately drowned by adrenalin as they stepped into the lobby and he saw the old bat he had tangled with previously pick up the phone and mutter something into it. Within moments, Spadoni appeared in the adjacent hallway with an orderly at his side. Zeke recognized the orderly too; he was the beefy fellow who had proposed a sedative for Casey earlier that afternoon, asking the question of anyone except the patient himself.

"There you are, Casey," Spadoni said, a paragon of caring. "We were a little concerned. You look tired." The doctor nodded to the orderly. "Steven's going to take you to your room now."

Without a word Steven took Casey away from Zeke, and Zeke was forced to either let him go or engage in some ludicrous tug of war over Casey's arm. Zeke watched as Steven escorted Casey down the hallway. He reminded himself that these people were trying to help. Maybe it was inevitable that after repeated exposure to every kind of human distress you would adopt that dry, overly patient voice of condescension.

"I'd like to talk to you," Spadoni said. "Both of you," he added as Sasha came up behind them. Zeke and Sasha had just enough time for a mutual roll of the eyes as they walked to Spadoni's office.

"You realize that you have been extremely irresponsible."

Sasha had a rejoinder before Zeke did – no doubt because Zeke was suddenly choked by seven days robust growth of ugly feeling all at once and had to take a few seconds to recover the ability to speak. "Is that a fact?" Sasha returned cooly. "How, exactly?"

"Taking Casey out of the hospital without telling anyone, without asking... and after the incident this afternoon..."

"It was just for a short drive," Sasha answered. "No harm done."

Having put down a minor emotional insurrection, Zeke was ready to join in. "Casey can leave here if he wants to," he challenged. "You aren't his guardians."

"I am aware of that, Zeke." Spadoni pinched the bridge of his nose like his head was hurting him. If Zeke were at all inclined to sympathy for the man, he would have allowed that Spadoni looked somewhat defeated and stressed. "I'm thinking about his well- being. It's going to be hard enough to convince him that he can stand on his own without having to fight you two on it as well."

Sasha seemed shocked by the doctor's comments. "That's a little extreme, isn't it?"

"I don't believe it is, Sasha. Between the two of you, Casey is quite well- insulated from everyone here. I want him to interact with people and participate in things, and it doesn't help that you two are trying to do everything and be everything to him."

Zeke considered everything he could have said to that and decided to be humane. He settled for replying, "He wanted to leave today, you know. He was ready to check out. I thought a short drive and a breath of air were a reasonable compromise."

"Under the circumstances I would consider his leaving extremely unlikely – unless, of course, you were determined to enable him."

"I told him I thought he should stay," Zeke gritted. "If that makes any difference to you."

At this Spadoni appeared to be somewhat pacified. "It does, Zeke. I especially appreciate you saying that... given your influence over him. But there's not much point to his staying when I can't make any progress with him."

Zeke opened his mouth to say something about how it was far too early for Spadoni to be blaming Zeke for his failures – when out of nowhere Sasha conceded, "Okay, I can see your point."

Sasha the Peace-Maker had struck again, and not for the first time since arriving in Herrington. In his more rational moments Zeke was grateful for it, but at the moment he was incensed. He rounded on Sasha with a glower but Sasha just waved him off.

"But you can't expect us to just toss him in the deep end and hope that he floats," Sasha went on, being very persuasive. "We're his best friends."

Zeke didn't want to hear anymore; he left Sasha to his consensus-building. When Sasha emerged from the hospital Zeke had already smoked two cigarettes down to the filter and was waiting with the car parked right in front. Zeke didn't say a word as they both got in and he maintained his silence until Sasha broke, which took all of forty seconds.

"You going to give me the Tyler glare all the way home?"

"You're lucky I didn't leave you here with your new pal."

"You're off the Richter scale, you know that, right?"

"He's jealous."

"Who... who's jealous?"

"Spadoni!" Zeke shouted.

"Now, Zeke, really–"

"I've got that little shit's number. He likes to believe his patients wouldn't make it without him. He's gotta be right there at every turn, making sure everyone understands how important he is to Casey's recovery so that at the end Casey falls down on his knees and thanks Spadoni for saving him."

"Oh, I see... so basically he's trying to do your job for you."

Zeke didn't respond; during the past week or so he had gotten quite used to having Sasha around, and had schooled himself not to react even when Sasha was being deliberately provocative. Besides, Sasha usually had a valid point even when it was couched in bombast and fluff.

"He is right in a way –" Sasha debated, but Zeke wouldn't let him finish.

"Whatever, can we just – take the night off? I'm gonna pick up some beer."

"Zeke."

"I've had it with everyone and I want to get hammered. Is that acceptable to you?"

Sasha uttered a long, dramatic sigh. "Well... I think I could choke down an alcoholic beverage. But why don't we go to a bar instead? I haven't seen all that Herrington has to offer, yet. Show me the nightlife."

"Actually, you have seen all that Herrington has to offer."

But Zeke obliged him, even though he normally preferred to dull his senses in the relative privacy and quiet of his home. For lack of anywhere better, he took Sasha to one of the clubs that was popular with the younger crowd. The place changed names frequently but was currently known as "Warp Ten". It had just been renovated so the carpet was new and didn't adhere or squish underfoot and the tables were relatively unscuffed. The music was Top Forty all the way, constant and stomach-rattling. Zeke and Sasha sat near the back of the club, where they could carry on a conversation as long as they maintained something close to a shout.

Sasha didn't want to give up on the conundrum of Spadoni just yet. "You know, I'm surprised by how much of a personal investment the doctor seems to have in this."

Zeke replied, "Everyone in this town is personally invested."

"Right. The alien thing. Always. So what has he said to you about that?" Sasha wanted to know, slurping his gin and tonic.

"Nothing important." Zeke tapped his foot along with the pounding rhythm and wondered if he and Casey would ever do things as unmomentous as going to a bar together, having a beer... even dancing. Zeke had no actual memories to go on but imagined that Casey would be a funny, awkward dancer. Of course he was thinking moreof the Casey of high school, the Casey who had yet to discover that bodies were good for anything except bleeding. In Seattle, post-Roy...maybe he would surprise Zeke.

"Aw, Zeke, c'mon."

"You know, I'm tired of thinking about Dr. Fucking Spadoni. He wants us to back off... I get it, I'm just not gonna do it."

"But he is right about us enabling Casey – and I hate to say it, but you especially, Zeke."

Zeke levelled a finger at Sasha. "Don't even."

"Don't point at me, young man. Hey, I'm thrilled to see you embracing your inner care bear... I just wonder who you're doing it for."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Zeke said, consciously avoiding a fight. "Can we just drop it?"

"Sure," Sasha allowed. "Good idea... okay, let's dance then."

"What?"

"Dancing. Moving your body along with music." Sasha was swaying and bobbing his head a bit. "This song's not bad."

"It's boring."

"It's dance music, it's not boring. It's all about losing yourself to the rhythm. I can't stand that old boy rock 'n roll redneck crap they were playing earlier...reminds me too much of where I grew up. And I see your foot going up and down so you can ditch the Real Men Don't Dance routine." Sasha jumped up. "C'mon!"

Zeke shook his head.

"Oh, fine..." Sasha rolled his eyes and drew a straight line through the teenagers to the dance floor. He wasn't the only person there, but he wasn't going to be anonymous either, and it didn't help that he towered about a foot over most of the others. He was graceful despite his height – fuck that, he had moves. He was one of those rare men whose joints seemed to be made out of water -- and he knew it. Zeke couldn't help watching him, along with at least half of the people in the club. Of course, Sasha didn't appear to notice or care.

The music changed and Sasha returned to their table, breathing a bit hard but looking essentially unruffled. "You ready to get up there yet?" he demanded.

"Nope."

"Don't be silly, there's plenty of people, they'll hide you."

"No, already!"

"You kill me, Zeke." Sasha slumped back into his chair. "But I'm not giving up."

"I'm not doing your 'how to be gay in ten easy steps' program."

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?" Sasha downed the liquid in his glass, which consisted mostly of melted ice cubes, and looked supremely unconcerned. "I think I'd like another drink."

Regretting his remark, Zeke offered, "I'll get it, I need a beer anyway..."

He pushed through the clutter of people around the bar and called for a beer and a gin and tonic, wondering if it was his imagination that the bartender had a displeased curve to her lips. Someone grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, Zeke!"

He spun. There were Walter Selton... and Gabe. Walter was obviously shit- faced, while Gabe just looked stony. Gabe had gone on to a football scholarship at some college; Zeke hadn't cared to notice which one. They hadn't seen each other or spoken since high school ended, and seeing him now, Zeke knew that had been the right approach. The very sight of Gabe's face caused some inflamed abscess within him to pop, rage oozing out along his nerve endings. He didn't remember experiencing this in Gabe's presence before and knew that it wasn't really about Gabe, who was your average bully motivated by an impersonal interest in cruelty. Gabe hadn't sought Casey out, he had simply explored his own meanness whenever they happened to come into contact.

There was a bit of an awkward silence that was smothered by the raucous music and general bar noise.

"How you doin', Zeke?" Walter asked, grinning.

"Fine." Zeke collected his drinks, gave the bartender a ten. He wasn't going to wait for change.

"Gabe's just in for a visit!"

Zeke indulged in a glance at Gabe. The rage thrilled up and down his legs and arms, into his fists.

"Hey, how's Casey doing?" Walter shouted with a touch of a leer.

"Fine!" Zeke shouted back and walked away.

Incredibly, the two guys followed him and sat down with him at his table. Mercifully, Sasha was back on the dance floor. Zeke started a cigarette.

"He didn't look too good at Delilah's birthday party," Walter rambled on, his voice still raised to almost the point of yelling. "I heard they've got him tied down out there and so drugged up he doesn't know his own name... is that true?"

"No!" Zeke erupted. "Fuck!"

Walter raised his eyebrows and mouthed sorry, man. Gabe suddenly sat forward like he was going to speak and Zeke was about to tell them to piss off – but then Sasha was back.

"Oh, hi boys," he said. All the chairs were occupied so he stood there, snapping his drink up and holding it, still moving a bit to the music. Zeke began pounding back his beer, intent on a quick departure. Walter and Gabe looked at Sasha, then looked at Zeke, and their faces spoke the language instinctively understood by all heterosexual male football jocks. Irrepressible and plainly not fluent in their language, Sasha introduced himself: "I'm Sasha, by the way."

"Walter!"

"Gabe," said that person.

A fresh pulse of anger made Zeke's fingertips throb.

"Gabe..." Sasha echoed, and gave the man a pointed stare. "Nice."

Zeke slammed his beer bottle down on the table. "Let's go."

"Oh, not yet!" Sasha implored of Zeke, grinning at Gabe, who wore an expression between outrage and – just rage. "You wanna dance, sweetness?"

Walter burst out laughing.

Gabe surged up from the table.

Quickly Sasha held up his hands. "Hey, chill, baby. It was an innocent question... promise I won't hurt you." He shot a look at Zeke, which was to say: Can you believe these weirdos, getting offended because I asked for a dance?

Zeke waited for history to repeat itself, but quite unexpectedly, Gabe just stood there breathing hard and glaring for a few seconds before subsiding into his seat.

"So, Zeke," Walter sniggered. "You two-timing Casey already?"

Certain people at the table were showing a lot of restraint. Zeke didn't want to obviate their efforts, so he had a final, deep haul on his cigarette, stabbed it out, and didn't answer.

"C'mon, Zeke, help me out! How could you dump Delilah for – agh, I can't even think about it. Say it isn't so, man!"

Zeke looked fixedly at Walter. "You wanna know if I'm with Casey. Yes, I am, so I guess that makes me gay. Other than that I can't help you, Walt."

Gabe tilted his head, considering Zeke.

"What about high school?" Walter blathered.

"What?"

"Were you... were you fucking him then?"

"What's it to you?"

"Dammit, were you always gay?!"

Zeke laughed out loud at this. "Walt, I promise you, when I put my hands on your ass, it was for the greater good. Okay?"

Walter stared at him, unblinking. "Okay," he said uncertainly.

Zeke got up. "You tire me, Walt. I'm outa here." He indicated to Sasha that he was leaving, with or without him. Sasha nodded, ready to join him.

Then – a funny thing, Zeke and Gabe exchanged a long look where many things appeared to be said but Zeke wasn't sure he knew what they were. And then, finally, Gabe spoke. He said, "From what I hear, Zeke's the one who was two-timed."

This was just about the last thing that Zeke would have thought to hear. "What?" he asked in heartfelt disbelief.

Gabe sneered, "Just that I heard that someone else was getting his ass. That why you put him in the hospital?"

Walter gave his buddy a look of amazed terror. "Gabe, lay off," he groaned.

Gabe ignored him. "I'll bet you showed your little alien-killer who's boss, huh?"

Zeke stepped in a bit, looming over Gabe and shrugging off a Sasha-shaped fly that was tickling his arm. "I'm not sure I heard you. You want to repeat that?"

"You heard me," Gabe said, staring up at Zeke with a grin.

"That's funny... because it sounds like you've really given this a lot of thought," he spat. "Did you want to show him who's boss, Gabe? Was that a little fantasy of yours back in the good old days?"

Gabe was on his feet again with fists clenched, now at last with all the malice glinting in him. They were almost nose to nose.

"I guess that was the deal, huh?" Zeke concluded. "Couldn't quite find the nerve to kiss him, so you hit him instead?"

"There's an alley behind this dump," Gabe stated. "I'll be back there five minutes from now."

"Zeke, he's not worth this," Sasha interjected.

Zeke rounded about and snapped at Sasha, "I know that. You think I'm going to waste my time with this freak? Five minutes from now I'm going to be in my car on the way home."

He walked away from the entire scene, figuring with only three beers in him he could still drive home legally. Sasha was close behind him, probably keeping an eye on Gabe, who had been left standing there in attack position.

But Herrington wasn't finished with Zeke yet tonight. Arriving in the parking lot he discovered that all four of his tires had been slashed.

For long seconds he stood there repeating the words to himself: I'm not guilty, I'm not angry...I'm fine...not guilty...not angry... "Motherfucking fuck!" he screamed at no one in particular. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck – FUCK!"

Sasha skidded up behind him. "What–?" he said breathlessly.

"They – the fuckers – they slashed my fucking tires –"

It couldn't be dignified, stomping back and forth like a three year old in the middle of the parking lot. It had to be a low point – except it could get worse which he discovered a moment later when he turned around and saw that Gabe had followed him out. Walt was standing there, maw hanging open, and quite a few others were gathering, drawn by Zeke's chorus of obscenity.

"Having a rough time, aren't you?" Gabe sneered. "Poor hero, no one likes him anymore."

"Go fuck yourself," Zeke answered, pawing for his phone with every intention of calling a cab and getting out of there.

And then Gabe hit him.

It was a solid hit in the ribs that socked the breath out of him. Everything after that was a blur. He knew that his own fists were making contact with some areas of soft flesh and others that were solid bone; he heard grunting, snarling noises and the sound of scuffling on pavement and then eventually he was being tugged away and in the back of his mind was getting ready to remove whoever that was because he wasn't finished.

"Zeke –!" Sasha was holding onto him and was certainly more alarmed than Zeke had ever heard him.

"Break it up!" squawked another voice.

Zeke heard a warning siren. He straightened, sucking in air and noticing a satisfying blossom of red on the face that had recently been in the vicinity of his fists; Gabe was lying on the ground looking murderous, his nose bleeding. Zeke stepped back quickly. The police cruiser came to a stop, the red strobe light spinning. Two officers got out of the car, one stalking Zeke while the other helped up Gabe. The bystanders had melted away save for Sasha and Walt.

"What's going on here?" demanded the officer who was in Zeke's face.

"A little disagreement," Zeke admitted. "I lost my temper. I apologize."

"He attacked me!" screamed Gabe from several feet away.

Sasha spoke up loudly, looking right at the officer who was monitoring Zeke. "After he punched this man in the chest!"

The officer appeared to weigh this information. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Zeke Tyler."

At this the man cocked his head. "Zeke..."

"Yes, that Zeke Tyler. Look, officer, I'm very sorry. I've had a very bad day, I stopped here for a drink, I came out and found my tires slashed and then this jerk jumped on me."

"How many drinks have you had?"

"Three beers."

"You realize that you could be arrested for assault."

Zeke silently hated Gabe, who seemed to be somehow excluded from this evaluation. "Yes, sir."

"The next time it won't just be a warning."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

Zeke didn't take his eyes off Gabe while the creep had brushed the dirt off his clothes and retreated into the bar, complaining loudly to Walt about his injuries. The police got back into their car but didn't drive away just yet, sticking around to observe as Zeke called for a cab. Sasha drifted near him, looking half wary and half impressed. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"He got you a couple of times."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

His tolerance of human weakness, what there had ever been of it, was used up.

 

The first thing the next morning – after a miserable night of tossing and twisting – Zeke had made arrangements to have his car towed and the tires replaced. He had the impression that the mechanic overcharged him for the tires but he didn't bother to take it up with the man. As soon as that was done he drove his car home on its new tires and started packing, filling the trunk of the Mustang.

He was standing in his bathroom, examining the medicine cabinet for items he wouldn't need over the next few days, when his cell phone rang. It was Delilah, looking for an update on Casey's condition.

The last time Delilah had seen Casey had been four days ago in the hospital, and Casey hadn't known that she was there, nor had he given any indication after that of remembering her visit. Zeke had been curious to see how Delilah would perform in the role of concerned friend; for some reason he had imagined it would be amusing, but it wasn't. He didn't feel at all like teasing Delilah about the way her eyes got all watery and chipped holes in her makeup. She'd sat there looking terribly sad and frightened and awkward, like she wanted to touch Casey but didn't know how, and Zeke had left her to it. When she emerged from the room a little while later, her face was back in place. She didn't have to say that she wouldn't be coming to the hospital again.

"I think he's doing better," Zeke informed her. He didn't feel it was necessary to mention yesterday's bathroom incident. "The IV is gone and the nurses told us he's been up walking around a bit more and he's been talking with the doctor."

"That's good," she sighed.

"Yeah." He appreciated suddenly that over these long days that he had been waiting, feeling like things were standing still, he was actually watching change occur very gradually. "Delilah... what are people saying about me?"

"Um..."

"I want to know the worst."

"Why? It won't change anything."

"I just want to know."

"Okay... but don't kill the messenger." Delilah lowered her voice to an intense whisper. "Erm... my... mother she called me the other day. People have made you and Casey into Herrington's own gay scandal. They say that you found out Casey was cheating on you and that you... well, you beat him up and... Zeke, I can't say it."

"And what else?"

"Huh?"

"What else have you heard?"

"The same kind of stuff, mostly –"

"Who? What did they say?"

"Does it matter? It's all the same."

He spluttered, "What –? How does –? I'd like to fucking kill whoever started that rumour – was it her? Delilah, was it her –?"

"Who?"

"Your mother, dammit!"

"I'm sure it wasn't my mother who started it," Delilah replied quietly. "She was just more than happy to spread it around. Let her be, Zeke. The last thing you need is to add murder to your list of crimes."

"Delilah –" He tried to speak but it was all garbled.

"I know it's crap, Zeke."

"Of course it's crap!"

"Because you're really such a gentle guy underneath the swearing and the death threats. I've been trying to tell people that."

"Shit."

"I just don't know why people think it's their business."

"We're public property, Delilah. Even you –"

"I'm not –"

" --although you try to pretend it had nothing to do with you."

"I don't buy that – but you and Casey, sure."

"You know, I can take people hating me for being 'a homo' but I really – can't – stand that people think I would do that to Casey."

"I know."

"I can't wait to get out of this shithole. A week is too long."

"A week –? You've made plans?"

"Yep. I'm leaving for Seattle, starting school this fall. I've already made arrangements to close the store."

"You going to hook up with Stokely and Stan?"

"That's the plan."

"And what about Casey?"

"He's coming too."

"But will he even be out of the hospital?"

"I think so – but if not, I'll wait. I don't mind starting school a few days late."

Delilah sighed, "I'm glad he's going with you, Zeke. You'll be good for him."

Of course, Delilah was just about the only person who thought so. Even Sasha was having his doubts by then.

That night when Zeke got to the hospital and saw Casey he was overcome with a mad desire: to grab Casey and run away. He imagined it like a football play – himself holding Casey, streaking down the hallway, dodging obstacles, a stream of nurses and orderlies behind him calling his name frantically and protesting. His more rational self got no help from Casey, who seemed to be silently begging him to get me out of here, kidnap me, take me, do something please. Zeke was forced to stand with his back to Casey or succumb – which he did eventually. They got in the car and for a while he couldn't quite shake off the illusion that he was driving away from their lives at top speed. As usual, it was Sasha who saved the day, calling him back just enough to get the car turned around.

So Zeke settled instead for describing to Casey the exact order of events that would take them to their new life in Seattle. The look on Casey's face could only be described as peace; there was no other term that applied. And as they stood there, Zeke's private revelation from days ago in the TV lounge was exhumed and up came all the feelings that went with it. Suddenly it was just the two of them in their own moral world where someone could belong to someone else and the most important thing was that Casey was Zeke's – his lover, not Spadoni's patient or Roy's victim.

Then the moment was over, and he couldn't really blame Sasha for acting like the old maid chaperone in some novel of manners, escorting Casey to the car and demanding an accounting from Zeke the moment they were alone in the car together later.

"What the hell was that?"

"What was what?"

It was a childish response, but Zeke wasn't prepared to return to emotional maturity just yet. He was intoxicated with Casey's rapt stare; he had basked in it all the way back to the hospital.

Sasha was apparently speechless, but not for long.

"Zeke, I thought the point of going out for these drives was to help, not to–"

"I am helping," Zeke insisted.

"How? By getting into his pants? You're just proving that doctor right."

"I'm proving him wrong," Zeke said, and was aware that he was drowning a little bit. He was completely sure and completely lost at the same time.

"Spadoni thinks you're like some – some –"

"Sexual predator?" Zeke broke in bitterly.

"What –? No...no. But taking advantage of him, maybe. Getting your kicks while he doesn't know any better and then bringing him back for the doctors and nurses to deal with the aftermath."

"Don't talk about him like...he doesn't know any better . He's not some idiot child, he knows what he wants."

"Where have you been the last couple of weeks, Zeke? Do you think he wanted to be Roy's side action? Do you think he wanted to be sneaking around lying to everyone?"

"No," Zeke allowed. He was experiencing a curious sensation of standing apart from himself; was this what it was like in Casey's head? A part of him was completely convinced by what he was saying and another part knew that it was utter nonsense. "What he wanted was me. He didn't know that he had me, so now I'm letting him know that he does have me. I told him the plan and that he's coming with me and he seemed happy, Sasha."

"This is nuts. You've lost it, Zeke."

"Whatever," Zeke said tiredly. For the past two days he had been going to bed with a headache and waking up with a headache. Nothing made a dent in that area of pain located above his left eye. Occasionally it would move to another sector of his head, for variety.

"Are you hearing yourself? You're telling me you'll just do whatever the hell you want because it's what Casey wants! How do you know it isn't all an excuse! Where do you draw the line?"

"I'm not Roy."

"Well, you're beginning to look a bit like him."

"I – am not -- Roy!"

The next morning Sasha and Zeke were not speaking to each other, but they made their peace later as they stood watch over Casey in his chemically-induced stupor. They had been told that Casey was sedated after a rough therapy session but Zeke fretted about what he had said and done the night before and had trouble meeting Sasha's eyes. His fears weren't eased any when, at one point, Casey dragged his eyes open long enough to accuse him, "You put me in the closet. Again." His pupils were huge and his words slurred almost beyond recognition and even Sasha didn't think anything of it, assuming it was drugged-up nonsense. Zeke feared he knew better.

 

They arrived at the Connor residence around noon. Neither of the parental vehicles was in the driveway. "Looks like no one's home," Zeke observed.

Wordless, Casey got out of the car. Zeke watched him walk to the front door and ring the doorbell. He came back a minute later and re-joined Zeke in the car, shaking visibly.

"You don't have a key?" Zeke asked.

Casey shook his head. Not surprising, considering the events that had led up to his arrival at Whitby. If he had been carrying a key it was long gone, and his parents had received no warning that he was coming home today.

"There's no secret hiding place?" Zeke wondered.

"No."

"Okay," said Zeke brightly, perfectly aware that Casey was falling apart in front of him. "I'm sure your mom's just out for a while. You can just come on over to my place. Sasha's there, he can make us some lunch and after we'll call and see if she's back."

"Sasha's... staying with you?"

Zeke frowned to himself, but replied patiently, "Yep."

Zeke had never been more grateful that Sasha existed as when they got to his apartment and Sasha was actually removing a pie from the oven. A pie, and the entire apartment smelled deliciously of it. "Hey, you've gotta try this," Sasha said without looking up. "Where'd you go, anyway?" Then he turned in time to see Zeke giving Casey a little nudge across the threshold. "Kitten!" Sasha pounced on Casey, hugging him with his characteristic largesse. "Are you – are you visiting?"

"Casey's left the hospital," Zeke said.

"Huh – really? Well, that's –" Sasha looked Casey over, saw the tremors, and quieted himself considerably. "I was just going to make some lunch," he said in a muted voice. "And then maybe we'll try the pie, I've been wanting to test out this new pastry recipe... are you staying here then?"

Zeke could actually see the moment that Casey gave up on speech entirely. The morning's events had already burned him out for today.

"It's up to you, of course," Zeke said, trying to sound encouraging so Casey would feel welcome, while not being too forceful so Casey wouldn't feel he was being strong-armed. "But if you wanted to stay here..."

"Yeah, it'd be awesome!" Sasha chimed in immediately. "Of course, Allison would flip out."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Allison wasn't at home."

"She went back to work on Monday... you didn't know?"

"I didn't, actually." Zeke eyed Casey for his reaction. "Casey says he wants to stay at home but we're locked out, it'll have to wait until later."

Now infected by Zeke's discomfort and Casey's distress, Sasha faltered. "Oh, well... let's have some lunch then." He recovered quickly, though, waving his hands. "Go, get out of my kitchen now. I need to work my magic."

Casey took a place on the futon, his entire body screaming apartness, holding his arms tight across his chest, the prescription still clutched in one hand. Zeke sat next to him but was careful to maintain a neutral space. After a moment he tentatively touched Casey's fist. "I guess everything feels a little odd right now," Zeke offered.

"Mmm."

"How can I help?"

Casey shook his head. Not so long ago – mere days – Zeke would not have hesitated to just hold him. Today he knew beyond any doubt that it was not wanted and he didn't quite understand why. The possibilities were endless but Zeke was hesitant to press for answers; he had learned caution when he tried to push for answers from Casey two nights ago at Lee's restaurant. The panic attack that Casey had conjured up had told Zeke something, though: Whatever you put me in the closet meant, it was not the nothing Casey tried to pretend it was.

"Lunch!"

The meal was pastrami and Swiss on rye with the fermented type of dill pickles that burned the tongue. Sasha presented Casey and Zeke with their plates first, then went back and got his own; he also brought glasses of water for himself and Zeke but milk for Casey, who responded to this offering with a questioning stare. Sasha shrugged and said, "Just drink it."

For several seconds the three of them were sitting there in the living room holding their plates on their lap in an utter silence. To distract himself, Zeke picked up his sandwich and took a bite. "Mmm, this is good," he remarked, quite sincerely. "I'm starving."

He tried not to watch Casey eat.

"So, Casey," Sasha began. "What did Spadoni think about you leaving?" Unlike Zeke, he was watching Casey intently.

"Nothing," Casey replied in a faint voice.

Zeke couldn't stand it. He was situated in an excellent place to observe; he gave into temptation and did so. He saw Casey holding half of his pastrami on rye with two hands while his arms were essentially resting in his lap so he was just holding the sandwich and shaking, staring at it like it was a problem he was expected to solve.

"Nothing," Sasha repeated. He raised his brows and said. "Eat, kitten."

Casey was torturously slow about eating his lunch. After about twenty minutes Sasha apparently couldn't take it anymore and pronounced Casey's efforts sufficient; Sasha then got a slice of pie for each of them. Zeke demolished his, and another slice, and he noticed that Casey showed the pie a tad more enthusiasm than he had the sandwich. Sasha was beaming by the time Casey was done. "Now the milk," Sasha said.

Complying, Casey reached for his glass and promptly knocked it over. His eyes were several stages past moist as he looked apologetically at Sasha.

"It's okay," Zeke said. It was, too, as it gave him something to do for about three minutes.

"So what shall we do this afternoon?" Sasha asked, visually pleading with Zeke. Even his ebullience was starting to dull.

"Can I take a nap?" Casey requested, his voice hoarse.

"Sure," Zeke was quick to reply. He hoped his relief wasn't too obvious.

Casey got up slowly and disappeared down the hall towards Zeke's bedroom. His feet made no sound at all.

Zeke collected the lunch dishes and washed them. The only problem with having a chef in the house was that the chef sometimes assumed that washing up was beneath him. Most times Zeke didn't mind, though; it seemed a fair trade.

When he was nearly finished, he noticed Sasha sneaking down the hallway towards the bedroom. A few seconds later Sasha was back. "He's asleep," he informed Zeke softly. By silent agreement they returned to the living room to debrief. Sasha demanded quietly, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Zeke replied. "He called me. Practically ordered me to come get him. He said he had to leave."

"But that's good, right? He made a decision for himself."

"Yeah, but... something's not right. I think he's upset."

"When is he not upset, Zeke?"

"I mean he's upset at me about something."

"That doesn't seem possible. You're teflon man, aren't you?"

"Maybe I was, but..."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I don't know. I mean, I do, but I don't know which thing he's mad about. There's too many to pick from."

"Um..." Sasha looked smugly amused. "That's true." He glanced over his shoulder, needing to verify that Casey wasn't standing there listening, and lowered his voice so much that Zeke had to strain to listen. "Do you think he'll be ready to hit the road so soon?"

"I think he has to."

Sasha growled, "Zeke..."

"I mean that he'll stay sick if he stays in Herrington," snapped Zeke.

"Fine, but I'm talking about the difference between days and weeks? You're the one in the big hurry."

"Do you ever get tired of trying to be my conscience? I do have one of my own."

"Show it to me and I'll lay off." Sasha grinned and nudged Zeke's foot. "I'm kidding...I know you have a conscience." Serious again, he said, "You realize that Casey's parents are going to freak out when they hear about the plan."

"Yeah."

"They need to hear as soon as possible so they'll have more time to get used to it."

"Mm hmm."

"I think we had better tell them – like tonight."

"Shouldn't Casey tell them?"

"Well, sure," Sasha allowed. "But what will he say? He's pretty nonverbal."

"But he is better," Zeke said. He heard himself being defensive and wondered why. "At least he can carry on a bit of a conversation, when he wants to." Restless, Zeke changed his position on the futon. "I'll ask him, then. If he minds me telling his parents. And what's this 'we' stuff anyway?"

"I know it's not actually any of my business..."

Sasha actually looked bashful. Zeke hadn't thought him capable of it; the man had not even a rudimentary grasp of none-of-his-business as a concept. "Oh, spare me," Zeke returned, rolling his eyes.

At this, Sasha smiled broadly. "Yeah, you're right. I'm a nosy bugger, aren't I? You know, Zeke, I was thinking..."

"What?"

Sasha let his mouth hang for a few seconds, looking like he was thinking about something that made him rather nervous. Zeke's interest was piqued but then Sasha retreated with, "Never mind."

 

Casey could tell immediately that he had slept through the afternoon. The smell of dinner had wafted down the hall, advising him that Sasha had made pasta carbonara. Sasha believed that pasta carbonara was Casey's favourite. Casey had never told him otherwise because he did like the dish; he liked everything that Sasha cooked about the same, actually.

Zeke was talking on the phone as Casey appeared in the kitchen. He nodded to Casey.

" – yes, Mrs. C, I'll bring him over right after dinner. See you soon." Zeke hung up the phone and said, "I hope you don't mind, Case, I was wondering if the hospital might call and tell them you checked out and then they would be panicking thinking I'd absconded with you. I didn't want them to worry."

Of course Zeke had a rationale for the things he did, that was why it was better to just let him be in charge. Especially right now, because Casey didn't feel like he had the strength to dial the phone, let alone talk into it. He couldn't believe that he had said and done the things he remembered from – earlier today, that had been, and incredibly, that day was still in progress. Thinking of the morning's events was like watching a video clip of some other person who bore no resemblance to himself. That person had demonstrated a lot of qualities that had been absent in Casey for some time, but all the same, Casey didn't want to think about becoming that person again. That person was frightening.

"Hey, kitten, I made your favourite!" Sasha said, beaming.

"Smells good," Casey answered. He remembered to smile.

"How was the sleep? Do you feel better?"

"Mmm... yeah, a bit."

"Case," Zeke said abruptly. "I think that when we get you home we should have a talk with your parents."

"Talk?" he echoed. He searched for some idea of what it was they needed to talk about with his parents and found it eluded him. He started a bit when Zeke spoke next.

"About you going to Seattle."

Ah, yes... he did know that they were going to Seattle but he hadn't thought about it for some time now, at least a day... maybe two days. The important thing, the thing that he did remember quite distinctly, was that he was leaving Herrington with Zeke. "Oh," he said. "Right."

Thoughtful looks were exchanged right in front of him. "You... do remember Zeke asking you?" Sasha asked.

He felt an urge to giggle at their obvious dismay. "Yes... Zeke's taking philosophy."

"And it starts in a week," Sasha reminded him.

"But I don't want to rush you," Zeke put in quickly. "I... when we talked about this before I said we'd leave soon. You...You did seem happy about it."

"I didn't remember... that part," Casey said.

"Well, I thought Sunday would be a good day to get on the road," Zeke offered up. "Um... what... day is it now?"

Now the looks were downright alarmed. "Wednesday," Zeke stated crisply. He was looking edgy; he began to pace around the floor space available to him in the kitchen area, which was limited. "I don't know... maybe it isn't such a good idea..."

Zeke was that animal again... climbing the walls, desperate to get out of his trap. He was all packed... Casey had seen earlier that most of Zeke's belongings had disappeared from his bedroom. "I – I can go S-Sunday... really."

"Zeke," snapped Sasha warningly.

Zeke stopped, looked, and Sasha nodded his head in Casey's direction. Zeke stilled himself with an apparent effort.

"I mean," Zeke corrected himself, "maybe we should wait to leave here a bit longer."

Casey shook his head in protest.

Zeke insisted, "But I don't want to rush you."

"You're not --"

"Technically, yes, I am."

With nothing further to say, Casey looked at the floor

"This is what I suggest," Sasha intervened. "We should eat now, because you really don't want to have overcooked pasta, that's just immoral and wrong. And then after we eat we'll bring you home, Casey, and you can tell your parents that you are going to Seattle. We'll negotiate the departure date later."

At that moment Casey knew a profound relief that Sasha was there and not in Cincinnati. Sasha was the buffer between him and Zeke's bright, hard energy, Sasha would help him to just exist. Casey wasn't proud of having that need but he didn't know how he would have survived the whole of this day otherwise.

"Do you want to tell your folks, Casey?" Zeke asked as they acceded to Sasha's pointing finger and went to sit at the dining table. "Or – I could tell them. If you want."

Casey figured that Zeke was definitely better than him at telling people things. Zeke had been telling people things left and right... why stop him now?

 

It happened in the living room. That was wrong, for a start. All of Casey's life, serious conversations happened at the dinner table. But Casey didn't tell Zeke that so he couldn't have known and so here they were Casey, Zeke and Sasha lined up on a couch, Casey sitting in between the two others and Sasha was surreptitiously stroking Casey's hand with a finger, perhaps without realizing he was doing it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Connor," Zeke began, immediately indicating that this was Something Serious by his respectful use of their full name. "There's something we need to tell you."

Casey's parents were sitting close together on the other couch, and they already knew that whatever it was, they weren't going to like it. The tension was... tense. But there was nothing to do but deliver the information and Zeke was not a man to waffle.

"Casey and I are going to Seattle," Zeke announced. "I'm going to school there. The University of Washington. I asked Casey to come with me and he said yes."

There was a longish silence. Sasha continued his contact with Casey's hand.

"When?" asked Casey's mom, seemingly calm...

"Er...well, I had hoped...you see, the semester starts in a week."

.... and the calm was over.

"What about Casey's school?" erupted his dad, shooting to his feet.

It was kind of irrelevant as far as Casey was concerned, but Zeke answered the question for him anyway. "They have bachelor of science degrees there too. If Casey wants to finish, he can. When he's ready."

"What do you mean 'if'?"

"Just that people may change their minds."

"I paid good money for physics, he's going to finish it..."

Now Zeke was also on his feet, squaring off with Casey's father across the coffee table. "You know, I'll reimburse you if it means you'll shut up about that."

"Oh, here we go, Mr. I'm-So-Rich..."

Sasha muttered, for Casey's ears only, "Just pull them out and measure them already."

Casey giggled. The sound of it split the air in the room and Casey put a hand over his mouth to ensure that it stopped while everyone stared at him for a second. Zeke sat down, containing himself for the moment, as did Casey's dad.

"When was this decided?" asked his mom. She was using her I'm-keeping- it-all-in voice.

"About a week ago," Zeke chimed in again. "Does it matter?"

"Yes, it matters." Casey's mom addressed him directly then. "Casey, do you think you were in the right frame of mind to make this kind of decision? I thought you'd be staying at home for a while."

Everyone's attention was on Casey, and while he should have known to expect it, he was nevertheless unprepared for it. His mind blanked out – but slowly, slowly, some thoughts managed to crystallize.... Zeke wanted this.... Zeke needed to get out of Herrington, needed it desperately and...Casey knew too that he could not stay in this town. Not anymore. It was not enough to leave the hospital because every person in town was a Spadoni who would hate seeing him and Zeke together and would think that he needed to get away from Zeke because there hadn't actually been any aliens... and then because there were no aliens he and Zeke were even more sick and wrong.... and because there were no aliens, Casey was nothing more than the product of Zeke's mistakes.

"I understand you want to go with Zeke," his mom went on. "But let's not rush things. He could go ahead and you could join him in a month or so. Would that be so terrible?"

"Yes, goddammit!" Zeke exploded. "It would!"

Casey's mother didn't like hearing that. Her face got very red, almost as red as his dad's could get at times. "And no one else cares about him except you, I suppose?"

Zeke appealed to Casey, evidently hoping he would say something. When Casey didn't help him, Zeke said, "He can't stay here, he needs to get out of this place."

Casey's father replied coldly. "I know you need to get out, before they run you out..."

"We both need to leave," Zeke avowed. "This place will make him sicker, don't you understand that? I don't mean you, I don't mean this house. I mean this town."

Casey's mom buried her face in her hands for a moment. Lifting it, she challenged, "Did you even ask Casey what he wants?"

"He wants to go," Zeke said. "Too much has happened here."

"Why do you have to keep bringing that up!" cried Casey's mother. "Can't we just forget it once and for all?!"

Casey knew he had to get away from this. He lurched to his feet and walked out the front door, crouching down on the front step and squinting into the sun. The door creaked behind him. He braced himself for Zeke to appear, but it was Sasha who sat down beside him and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"Nice sunset," observed Sasha, noncommittal.

"Hmm."

Sasha made a pretense of watching it for about three seconds.

"What's going on with you?" he wanted to know. "You sat there and let them talk about you for the last half hour. Didn't you want to say something?"

Casey shook his head fervently.

"But that's your life they're talking about in there – " Sasha had to be able to feel the strain in Casey, and how every one of his words stretched Casey a bit thinner. He wrapped up his diatribe instantly. "Okay. I'll stop nagging." Sasha gave Casey's shoulder a little squeeze. "You've had a really intense day already, haven't you?"

"Yeah... long day."

"Probably best if you hit the sack, huh?"

"Love to," Casey said and tried for a short laugh that got totally bungled and turned into a sad little croak.

"Kitten, if it means anything... I do agree with Zeke. The sooner you get out of Herrington the better. I get a pretty uncomfortable vibe from this town, and I don't even have your history here. Just think... the open road... nice long drive... plenty of scenery... a new start..."

"You could come too," Casey said, realizing it as he said it.

Sasha sighed deeply, but he didn't say anything in reply to this.

"Now don't you worry, kitten. Even if your dad locks you in the attic, we'll come and rescue you. Zeke will drive up and stand under your window and call 'Casey, my dearest... come down...'" Earnestly, Sasha added, "Now, tell me, just for my own peace of mind... You do want to go?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"Well, then... I'm sure your parents will understand. Eventually. Over the last week or so I've gotten to know your mother a little. You know she loves you, right?"

He nodded. The noise from inside had died down to a trickle; perhaps it was safe to go back inside.

Zeke and his parents had taken their disagreement to that point of mutual opposition where everything had been said and all arguments had been made; they were now reduced to glaring at each other. Sasha was quick to suggest that he and Zeke depart. Casey wanted only to go straight to bed but he was aware that his parents would be expecting some conversation with him. He accepted a hug from Sasha and a soulful look from Zeke, and then went directly to the dining room table and took his seat. There was a furtive, whispered conversation going on in the kitchen.

He waited. After about ten minutes he was joined by his parents; they were now in their proper places for a family discussion.

"You tired, hon?" his mom said. He nodded wearily. "How about we just talk about this for a bit, and then you can go to bed, okay?"

"All right."

"Hum," said his father, uncertain.

"Casey, I don't want you to go," declared his mom, not holding back. "I don't like it, you should be with your family right now. I don't mean forever, but right now... right now you need someone to look after you."

"Zeke – " Casey protested.

"Zeke, oh, yes, Zeke, he'll do. Listen, honey. I like Zeke very much, but he grew up without a mother or father really, he raised himself and he turned out okay but he has some funny ideas about things."

"Mom."

"What, hon? Talk to me."

"Should – shouldn't be about that."

"What?"

"Taking care of me."

"I see." A tear had found its way out of his mom's eye, followed immediately by another. "It shouldn't be but it is, you need someone right now and it should be me..." Her voice decayed quickly. "I – I'm trying not to get upset."

Casey's dad put his hand over hers as it lay on the table and she gripped it in return. That was not something Casey was used to seeing, not in his conscious memory. Something was definitely going on with these two.

"Casey," his dad said, his tone admirably damped down but Casey still felt the space between his shoulder blades tighten. "Is this what you want? If I saw you – if we thought you were really excited and happy about this plan, maybe it would help."

"I do – I want to," Casey answered, putting his hands under the table and clenching them.

"But you just got out of a hospital!" his mom objected, tears flowing freely now. "Why does it have to be now – " She broke off and said the next directly to her husband, not Casey. "I'll tell you why, Zeke has to start school next week –"

"– yeah, and he's not everyone's hero anymore," added Casey's dad.

Casey blurted out, "I can't stay in Herrington."

His mom flinched. "What – what does that mean?" she asked forlornly.

God, how he wanted to go to be asleep. "Can – can we talk about it tomorrow, Mom?" He thought about the quantum of pure energy it was going to take to get to his bed, considered the distance and the number of stairs... "Please?"

"All right," she allowed, somewhat unwillingly. "I guess you've had a long day."

He forced a slight smile.

Both his parents seemed to feel it was necessary to escort him upstairs and to his room; they were barely able to leave him alone long enough for him to strip down to his underwear and get into the bed. A tentative knock announced their intention come back in. "Yeah," he called.

It was his dad who entered, by himself, and sat down on the edge of the bed, looking uncomfortable still but determined.

"Your mother's back to work this week," said his dad. "So I'm going to take a few days off... stay here with you."

"You don't have to..."

His dad didn't reply to that directly. "I'll be here for the next few days." Clearing his throat, he plunged on rather abruptly, "Maybe you were wondering why I didn't always come to see you in the hospital."

Casey hadn't, really, but his father didn't need to know that.

"I – er – I didn't like it... the way they were." His dad reached over and wiped imaginary dust off Casey's clock radio. "With you. I mean..." He found Casey's eyes. "I didn't like to see it."

Casey scraped up a word. "Okay."

His dad sucked a big breath, puffing up his chest. "You know...I do understand why you want to leave here, Casey." He patted Casey's arm, just once, a longish pat. "I'll talk to your mother... she'll come around."

It had to be the kindest thing his father had ever done for him, and in his exhausted state he couldn't stop the tears from coming. He turned his head away, waiting for his father to bolt in disgust. Sure enough, there was the creaking as his dad's weight was removed from his bed and the sound of feet moving away... his door opening...

A few seconds later his dad was back, though. Casey kept his face turned until suddenly he became aware of the weight beside him again. He looked around anxiously, just in time to see his father's hand come at his face. He cringed... but the hand held a tissue that his dad used to wipe his eyes for him with the sort of casual efficiency one would use with a snivelling toddler.

"Go to sleep," said his dad and smoothed the covers with one hand, briefly. He got up. "Good night, Casey."

The bedroom door shut softly. Casey put his head under his pillow and sobbed for a while before meandering into sleep.

 

The next morning Zeke could barely wait until nine o'clock before showing his face at Casey's door. He came bearing gifts – as though he needed some pretext, but he did want to give Casey the books he had purchased for him almost two weeks ago, as well as a blank notebook with the word "Journal" printed on the cover to indicate its use. He had them under his arm as he knocked at the front door. He had never felt so much like an unwelcome suitor. It was ridiculous to be standing here wondering if his hair wasn't sticking up and his shirt was tucked in and maybe he should have brought gifts for the parents too –

Casey's father answered the door. He welcomed Zeke with a displeased grimace but otherwise was strangely cordial. Zeke had expected more parental wrath and blustering.

"Mr. Connor," Zeke said, minding his tone. "Is he up?"

"Yeah. Watching the TV."

"May I come in?"

Casey's father stepped back and waved Zeke in.

"In the family room?" Zeke queried.

"Yeah...go ahead..."

Walking through the kitchen, Zeke noted the remains of breakfast dishes and thought briefly, longingly, about the Jam. He would have to find a replacement diner when he got to Seattle. He also noticed an enormous bottle of pills on the counter; he hoped that Casey was not going to make any trouble about taking them.

Continuing into the family room, Zeke found Casey sitting in his father's armchair, feet tucked up, holding the TV remote. At first glance, he seemed quite intent on whatever was on the tube, which turned out to be "The Price is Right". Close-up, it was easily apparent that Casey was not actually watching it.

"Case."

At least Zeke only had to say his name once. Casey blinked, saw Zeke. He even smiled – and the smile sent a shudder down Zeke's spine. Casey appeared even more drained than he had been last night. His eyes were deep set in shadow, glittering with an unwholesome light. At the sight of him, Zeke found an even greater resolve to say what he had come to say.

"Hi," said Zeke, unnecessarily. "Did you – did you get any sleep?"

"Yes."

"Er... I brought you a few things." He held out the three books, feeling like an idiot. "Didn't wrap them, sorry."

Casey set the remote on the table beside him and accepted Zeke's offerings. "It's okay."

"They're just a couple of film books I saw that made me think of you. And I got you a journal. You don't have to do anything with it, I just thought... they say it helps to put things on paper sometimes."

"Thanks, Zeke," Casey said. He didn't look at the books, placing them on the seat beside him, in the niche between his feet and the back of the chair. He looked up with something both less and more than gratitude in his eyes. It was fervent, demanding, a come-hither with the warning that if Zeke did approach he might get bitten, even as he was kissed.

"I'd like to talk to you," Zeke requested, trying not to make it sound momentous.

"Talk?"

"About stuff, you know... about our plans." Zeke sat on the ottoman in front of Casey. "Have you eaten?"

Casey clenched up, just for a moment. He looked away from Zeke as he answered. "Yes."

"Sorry – had to ask." Zeke tried to think about how to tackle what would be a controversial topic and decided on an oblique approach. "More importantly – did you get coffee?"

Casey's mask cracked a little. "Yeah," he said, amused. "First coffee in... two weeks, I guess."

"They wouldn't let you have it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Not sure."

Casey stroked one of the books' covers with a languid, circular motion. The gesture was unexplainably erotic; an ache developed in the pit of Zeke's stomach and moved almost instantly to his crotch.

"Actually," Casey mused, "I don't think anyone gets coffee there... that I saw." His voice trailed away under Zeke's gaze. "We can talk in my room," he suggested, still handling the book as though he would much rather caress it than read it.

"How about another coffee?" Zeke proposed. "My treat, of course."

"No, thanks," Casey replied, darkness-shrouded eyes pinned on Zeke.

"All right. How about juice or water?"

Casey just smiled faintly. There was nothing blatantly sexual in it -- except that it was entirely about the silent, unacknowledged conversation they were having right now. Zeke felt his lower body going ca-thunk...ca-thunk. He was sweating.

"Casey," he said. Pleaded. "I want to talk to you."

Casey reached for Zeke's hand; Zeke declined to give it to him.

"We can go to my room, Zeke," Casey urged with a bit of a pout. "It's okay, my dad won't hear us."

"Hmm... I don't know. How about a walk?"

"I don't feel up to it."

"Fine," Zeke snapped. "Your room."

This was becoming impossible. Zeke was looking at a person who had illness written all over them, a person whom he worried about constantly, and still, when that person chose to call to him, he still couldn't seem to not want him.

Upstairs, Casey positioned himself on his bed, cross-legged. Zeke took a seat in the computer chair. He had brought his gifts up for Casey, and placed them on the computer desk. This tableau was uncomfortably familiar -- except this time Casey was staring at him with burning, demanding eyes. Shit, if he had known what he was doing in that initial encounter, if he had had the first clue that Casey's breakdown that day had not been the healthy catharsis he thought it was at the time, if he had really understood that it was just the launch of the real breakdown... would he be here now? Yes. Hell, yes. He just wished he'd figured out then what he was finally coming to understand.

He didn't know what the fuck he was doing.

"I don't know if you heard last night... I told your parents we would be leaving on Sunday."

Casey gave a nod.

"Does that mean Sunday is okay?"

Now it was a look of challenge. "I could go tomorrow."

"I don't think they would like that."

A tiny shrug. "Tomorrow or Sunday... doesn't matter."

So this was battle with the passive aggressive. Zeke tried to remember a time when he hadn't been at the mercy of Casey's every facial expression, before everything got mixed up with guilt and misplaced intentions. He was tangled in it now, snared every time he tried to move, so Casey only had to raise an eyebrow and he felt the tug of longing and anger and desperation and other feelings that couldn't comprehend themselves.

"I think we'll stick with Sunday," he concluded firmly.

"That's fine."

"Casey... we need to talk."

If he had wanted to deliberately shut Casey down he couldn't have picked a better way. Casey read the seriousness of his tone, sensed a conversation he didn't want to have, and went the colour of despair. Casey's eyes flew to the door as though assessing his chances if he were to try for it. "I..." Casey said, fumbling with his hands and feet. "I – I don't have a lot to pack."

It was a straightforward plea and Zeke regretted that he was compelled to ignore it. "That's not what I want to talk about." It didn't feel right, he wanted to be up and pacing, but he made himself sit on the bed and take Casey's hand. "You know there are things..."

Casey pulled back with a look of utter betrayal. "No."

"Yes, Casey."

"I'm tired of talking," Casey protested, his voice getting louder. "People – always feel like they have to talk – to say things –"

"Things that need to be said."

"They don't have to say anything but they do anyway and it's just a waste."

"This is me apologizing -- it is not a waste."

Casey visibly surrendered. His shoulders slumped and he just nodded, staring down at his lap. Zeke gripped his hand tightly; it sat limply in his, refusing to grip back.

Zeke plunged in anyway. "I'm sorry for some of the things I said and did this past week. I've been a bit out of control, and... stuff has been going on that's had me pretty wound up." He paused. "I don't want to make excuses, but... well, when people act stupid it pisses me off and then I almost feel tempted to do my worst, you know?"

Something had broken open. He started rattling away, confessing.

"I didn't get along with Spadoni, and yeah, he's an ass but I could have tried harder. I hope it didn't make it more difficult for you. It just really bugs me how he tried to fit you into his little mould and I... I guess I got a little intense and I'm sorry for that. Of course I prefer you to make your own decisions and I really – really don't want to do anything to hurt you, Case."

Casey's hand suddenly closed around his. "You didn't hurt me," he said.

Zeke was appalled at the depths of avoidance on display before him. "Yes, I did, Casey and you know it too, I can tell. You know I shouldn't have talked to you like I did, and I shouldn't have come on so strong –"

Casey looked at him with blank confusion. "I don't know when you mean," he said.

"I'm talking about what happened in the car the other night...and before that, when I told you I was making your decisions for you, and..." Zeke rubbed his forehead, hating this conversation. "I got turned on and...I was all over you. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have touched you that way."

"But I like it when you touch me," Casey whispered, desolate.

"I'll give you all the affection you can stand, Casey, I promise. But there's affection and then there's... what I was doing. It isn't right when you're so sick and I promise it won't happen again."

"It was okay, it was... it was what we needed."

"Casey – I can't believe I'm having to say this -- touching doesn't have to mean sex and sex doesn't have to mean ownership."

"It does for us."

They were in the heart of the storm now. Zeke was cut loose from his moorings, buffeted and tossed about, reacting as best he could but aware that he had no idea where he was going or what was coming. And he was terrified. At last he said, "Explain that to me, Casey, because I don't think I get it."

"I can't," Casey said. "If – if I could then it wouldn't be true."

"That makes no sense to me."

"Because you think everything can be put into words."

It sounded like an accusation.

"Yeah, I do," Zeke said, just a little bit defensive. "I do think that – I believe that. So why don't you try?"

Casey lifted his head; his eyes pummelled Zeke. There went the look, the submission, the offering of himself. Inside Zeke's, his hand moved, his thumb caressing Zeke's skin lightly. "Sometimes... sometimes you look at me and I just know...you want all of me..."

Zeke's heart was pounding through his ribcage.

"...so I give it to you."

Fuck...fuck, he needed time, he needed to think --

"It's not sick," Casey added, his voice quite insistent. He was now gripping both of Zeke's hands, holding them so tightly that his nails cut into Zeke's flesh. "It's not."

"I don't think it's sick," Zeke replied, although in his heart, he had some doubt. He had chosen to trust Casey, though, and the moment had arrived when he understood exactly what that meant. He tried to shift Casey's grip, to get him to ease up. He wasn't having much success. "It's an amazing gift..." a tremendous, dazzling, terrible gift "that...I don't think I really deserve."

"You –" Casey breathed.

He was undoubtedly about to protest that Zeke did in fact deserve it, which was really, in Zeke's mind, the most enigmatic aspect of what Casey felt about him. Zeke couldn't hear it. He said quickly, "You don't have to give me everything, Casey. Roy made you believe that was necessary. I'm not Roy. There has to be some sort of happy medium here."

"But you – you already – you took it."

With this Zeke knew he had completely, unquestionably and inexcusably fucked up. For an eternity he imagined that there could be no recovery, that everything was as absolute and unconditional as Casey painted it, that Zeke had doomed them both in a series of moments that tallied to about one minute of atrociously bad judgment. For he had taken. Every time that Casey had prostrated himself, for a few seconds Zeke had wallowed in his own omnipotence, and even if it was a tiny, silent and limited portion of glory, Casey would know and be validated, primed for another act of submission.

Zeke pondered his failure, while Casey clutched at him, drawing his blood.

And then the eternity was over and Zeke returned to common sense. It could not be unfixable, there had to be a way of escape; to think otherwise was to prolong the self-administered illusion, and Zeke had already indulged in those fantasies a lot longer than was healthy. It was simply a matter of making Casey believe in his own autonomy, which certainly couldn't be any harder than making him learn to be happy.

So knowing that he could be striking a terrible blow, Zeke responded, "If I did... it was a mistake. I'm giving it back. I have to give it back."

Casey released Zeke's hands all at once and looked at him then with a dank, monstrous emotion that said there would be no release, no escape from the bondage, the silence. "There's no giving it back," he husked, fully possessed of the will to submit, and by submitting to take his revenge upon Zeke. "It's done but it's okay, you don't have to be afraid. You act, that's what you do... I had Roy all over me and you needed to erase him."

Zeke needed time to recover himself. He begged, "Shut up, now, Casey, please."

Casey closed his mouth, his eyes puncturing Zeke.

"You know," Zeke said then, "This is all bullshit -- because when I look at you what I see is anger. That's what's all over you so why don't you stop absolving me and tell me the truth for once."

"I'm not angry, Zeke."

"That's a fucking lie."

Casey moved quickly, his hand towards Zeke's face. Zeke reared back a little, thinking Casey was actually going to hit him... but he was actually attempting to stroke Zeke's jaw. "You could absolve me."

"What are you talking about?"

Casey leaned in. "For what I did to you," he whispered.

Zeke put a hand on Casey's shoulder, to hold him back. "For the last time... this isn't about me."

He remembered thinking to watch himself when Casey's rage arrived, and he knew now that he had underestimated the threat. Casey moved sinuously, getting out from under Zeke's hand and suddenly beside him, almost pressed against Zeke's back. His voice was a feral hum that Zeke could feel inside his chest. "But it's always about you, Zeke," he crooned, his hands snaking around the front of Zeke. "It's too late to give back what you took. And now you want me to forgive you for it... so why don't you let me show you how I forgive you..."

Zeke managed to catch both of Casey's wrists. "Don't touch me, Casey."

"...and you can forgive me for being with Roy."

"I mean it. I don't want to hurt you."

Casey's mouth grazed the spot just beneath Zeke's left ear. "Forgive me, Zeke?"

In a heartbeat Zeke had twisted around and grabbed Casey and pinned him down on the bed. The two globes of deep blue that he had spent hours and hours staring into were underneath him at last, glowing not with surrender but with pure demand, with complete expectation....Prove that I'm still whole, Zeke, because if I am whole like you want me to be, you can do this, there wouldn't be any harm in it.... And while Zeke saw through that completely, still arousal beckoned to him, stealing over him, making him tighten and shake and swell all at once. No doubt Casey felt him get hard with their lower bodies glued together like they were, and Casey laughed even as Zeke propelled himself off the bed. The laugh was a cackle of pure hysteria; it hurt Zeke's ears.

Zeke retreated to the window, staring enviously at someone casually strolling by on the sidewalk.

"I don't think you've forgiven me at all," came Casey's voice, taunting him.

"I do forgive you," Zeke ground out, talking to the glass. He was far closer to tears than he wanted to be. "Roy is old news, you get that? He's not in the picture."

"Are you sure?"

Zeke whirled around. Casey was once again sitting up, this time holding his knees. Could he have actually said what he had said? "What the hell does that mean?"

"Maybe I should go back to Cincinnati instead of Seattle."

Helpless, Zeke wondered, "Do you have any idea how crazy you are right now?"

It seemed that Casey was silenced.

"I'm going to leave you alone now," Zeke resolved. His body shuddered, taking him away from the window. His voice was shot through with deep cracks. He stopped just at the door. "I mean – just for today, not –" He couldn't finish.

And he fled.

His apartment was cool and quiet and perfectly sane. He took three Tylenols and lay on the futon.

He shouldn't have bolted, he knew that. Casey was probably contemplating the abyss right now – but that was the ideal outcome of the whole thing, wasn't it, to prove that it was all fucked up and hopeless? To fulfill his worst fears of being abandoned... to have a reason to dial Roy's number... Zeke wished he could believe that was out of the realm of possibility.

Sasha came through the door about twenty minutes into Zeke's internal harangue, carrying a bag of groceries. "Whew, it's getting hot ag –" Sasha spotted Zeke. "What's with you?"

Not moving, Zeke closed his eyes and said, "We just had a fight. At least, I think that's what that was."

Sasha dumped the groceries in the kitchen and immediately joined Zeke in the living room. "What happened?"

"I went over to apologize. He didn't want to hear it. I had to fight him just to let me say the words and he tried to pretend that he isn't angry, that everything between us is just the way it ought to be."

"What did –"

"It's so fucked up, Sasha, I can't even..."

"Just tell me."

"Everything I tried, he just... he kept coming on to me like it was his sole purpose for being, he got hurt when I suggested that it was wrong and he even tried to turn it around and make it about me being angry at him. He basically told me that the only way to prove that I forgave him for being with Roy was for me to fuck him and when I refused he actually insinuated that he'd go back to that creep! I left, I couldn't be in that room with him."

Somewhere in the middle of this Sasha had sat down; now he rested his head in his hands. "Jesus."

"Something like that."

"What are we going to do with him?"

"Right now I'd like to beat some sanity into him."

Sasha retorted, "Oh, that'll work."

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

"What do you want me to say, Zeke?"

"Say?" Zeke sat up slowly; the pain in his head shifted around a bit. "I suppose you're going to say you told me so."

"I did, didn't I?"

"That's not helping. I know I made a mistake."

"All right , but..." Sasha broke off and looked penetratingly at Zeke. "Did you have sex with him?"

"When would I have done that?" Zeke protested, avoiding Sasha's eyes.

"I don't know -- maybe during one of your little evening jaunts?"

"I know I'm an egomaniac but I'm not that bad."

"Why do you look so guilty then?"

"Okay," Zeke admitted. It would be a relief to confess to someone who wasn't fucked up in the head, actually. "The night before last we did some stuff in the car. I know it shouldn't have happened. I could tell he was upset about something, but... he came onto me, Sasha, and he was very determined – and you know, I had this stupid idea that it would actually help if I didn't treat him like an emotional cripple."

Sasha muttered something.

"I've screwed up, okay? I've screwed up, I admit it. But you know, there has to be a way to be close to him without it turning into this – this insanity."

"There is, Zeke. It's called 'waiting for the right time'."

"Fuck you. Like you've never lost control."

"Don't jump on me! Okay, the important thing is you know not to let it happen again."

"I'll tell you... it wasn't too difficult to resist this time. He was scary, Sasha. It's like he's determined to make me hurt him." Zeke rocked on the futon a little, thinking anxiously about how they had parted and what Casey was thinking or doing right now. "He's punishing me..."

Sasha ran his hands through his hair, massaging his scalp. "Okay. I had better go and talk to him. That is, if he isn't dead."

"That isn't funny. Not in the least bit."

"I didn't mean it as a joke."

"I'm the one who should talk to him."

"No – let me. Please."

 

Two minutes after Zeke bolted, Casey's father was at the bedroom door. "Casey? Everything okay?"

"Fine."

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah."

His dad inserted half his body in the room and gave Casey a long stare of assessment. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Yes." His voice broke on that little word.

His father stared at him, obviously at a loss. "I'm going to make a sandwich – you want one?"

"Yes," he said, holding everything rigidly still, waiting, waiting, the door was closing...

He had thought he was going to scream. He was waiting to jam the pillow in his mouth and once he was safe to do it, he flopped over and pressed his open mouth to the soft fabric but as often happened when one put the screams off for a while, by the time he got to them it was too late. The window of opportunity had closed.

So instead he clenched the pillow to his body, up against his stomach. He fixed his eyes on the wall and remained very still, concentrating solely on the task of keeping in his breakfast.

A knock made him blink. "Casey!"

"Yeah," he said weakly.

His father came in, holding a plate with a sandwich and an apple. Upon seeing Casey lying there he put the plate down on the bedside table and knelt down. "Stomach bothering you?"

"Mm hmm."

"Maybe if you eat you'll feel better."

"Okay," he said, because it was easier. He pulled himself up and took the sandwich. Peanut butter and raspberry jam on Wonderbread. He had loved that when he was five. He smiled to himself and felt the smile twist into something else as he took a bite. He put the sandwich down and noticed that his father had already gone.

Maybe he really should go back to Cincinnati. He wasn't fit for a relationship with Zeke, who expected forgiveness for his sins. Roy never asked for forgiveness. He didn't have to. Roy never made demands of Casey that Casey couldn't meet; Roy only asked things of him that he was accustomed to giving and helped Casey avoid the feelings that needed to be avoided. Roy helped Casey to forget. Not Zeke. Zeke wanted far too much.

His dad had left the bedroom door open; Casey got up to close it. As he did, he found Zeke's presents lying on his desk. He took the journal and a pen and sat once again on the bed, opening the journal to the back page. He wrote down Roy's phone number on the inside back cover... just in case he forgot it. Then he flipped back to the front and held his pen over the clean, white page.

Time got away from him, he let it just go – until his eyes again found the journal but now there was a large blob of ink under the point of the pen. Casey lifted the point and drew a figure eight on the page. He traced it several times, watching the lines get thicker and thicker. Then he put a circle around it, and the circle inside a box. Then the box was two boxes sitting inside another figure eight and he was just scribbling, scribbling, until finally he was drawing a big blue ball of ink that had filled the page and soaked through and tore a big hole in it. He tore that page out, crumpling it in his fist. The sight of the empty page beneath bothered him, so he tore it out, and then the next. He tore all the other pages out, one after another, in no real hurry. At the end he had nothing but the cover, binding together a clump of jagged edges. He threw the thing at the wall above the desk, watched it settle on the desk beside one of the movie books.

Just as he was tearing off Roger Ebert's title page, a noise startled him; he saw that Sasha had come into his room. Sasha did not comment on the puddles of white all over the bed and floor. He sat down and waited, calmly observing Casey.

"I think your dad's starting to like me," Sasha commented when he was ready to talk. "He didn't glare as much as usual when he let me in."

Casey closed the book in his lap with a crack. He hugged Ebert's face against his chest.

"You should have been around at our first meeting," Sasha added, trying on a grin. "Of course I couldn't help telling him how it was my mission to train you up for the gay invasion –"

"Sasha?"

"Yes, kitten?"

There was a question that Casey wanted to ask him. He had wondered about it for some time but fear of the answer had always outweighed his desire to know. Now he needed to know. "Do you believe me?"

"Believe...?"

"About the – the aliens?"

Casey saw Sasha take a breath and hold it. He saw thoughts racing around. He saw the answer in Sasha's face.

"Does it matter if I do or not?" Sasha replied.

"Yes..."

"Then I don't know what to tell you, kitten. I just don't know. I don't consider it out of the realm of possibility."

"Roy never believed me."

Sasha was not a person who hesitated to lie if he thought he could spare a friend some pain. He answered, "I don't really know, Casey. He used to be fairly open-minded to that kind of thing. Anyway, I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter what he thinks."

"He – he didn't believe me and... he said I was crazy –"

"I don't think you're crazy – or delusional, or whatever the correct term is."

"Then what?"

"I don't know, exactly. Whatever it was, Zeke experienced it too, didn't he? He insists that it happened and I don't like to contradict Zeke unless absolutely necessary."

"Maybe he lied though. Maybe he made it all up and I was stupid enough to go along with it."

"Kitten, what are you getting at? What is this all about?"

"Nothing," Casey said around a sob. "I just – sometimes – I'm afraid it didn't happen."

"You know, this is exactly why you need to get away from here. You're putting way too much energy into this one issue. The aliens don't define you, Casey. They're not your whole story."

"Zeke said I was crazy too."

"If he did, I doubt that he meant it. And I'm sure that it wasn't because you believe in aliens because then he'd have to be right there with you in the loony bin."

"He did mean it," Casey muttered, "because it's true."

"Casey," Sasha chastised. "That's no way to talk. You and Zeke had a fight and he mouthed off. Like that's never happened before." Sasha grinned hugely. He was quite obviously handling Casey, working the conversation for a laugh, but that was a part of the joke too and Casey smiled a little despite himself.

"Omigod!" Sasha grabbed his chest, letting his eyes roll up towards heaven. "Is that a smile!? Can it be?" He flopped on the bed beside Casey, sprawling out like they were two teenagers having a sleep over. "In vain I hoped for this day to come upon us."

Casey lay back and put his head on Sasha's shoulder. "Sasha... Zeke's mad at me, isn't he?"

"He's not so much angry as frustrated. In fact, he's afraid that you don't want him. He's afraid... you meant it when you said you'd go back to Cincinnati. You're quite a pair, the two of you." Sasha cleared his throat. "You didn't mean it, did you? About Cincinnati?"

"No."

"That's good. Because I really would have to do something drastic if you tried it." Sasha patted Casey's hand that happened to be laying close to his own. "Stuff like that's going to really get to me – and Zeke. Why'd you say it? You angry at him about something?"

Casey sat up quickly, drawing apart from Sasha. He heard Sasha sigh.

"If he's botched up something," Sasha insisted, "he needs to know about it so he can apologize. That's what this morning was about --"

"Will you just leave me alone?" It wasn't what he wanted to say. What he really wanted to say was that if he was mad about anything, it was people trying to dictate when and how he gave them his emotions. He didn't actually want Sasha to go anywhere.

"Okay," Sasha said. "I'm sorry."

Sasha started to get up, to leave, and Casey grabbed at him. "Sasha –" he said, urgently.

"Hey, it's okay." Sasha sounded tired. And hurt. "I know I'm a pest. I just want to make things better."

"You do," Casey said, afraid that he would go and not come back.

Sasha considered him, perhaps evaluating his sincerity. Sasha's chin lifted, his usual positive attitude serving its purpose, transforming his expression into a happy face mask. "Yeah, sure."

"Really... you do."

"Hmm, okay. Now, if you want to really want to make me believe it..."

"What?"

"Nah, I wouldn't want to push it, you might snarl at me again."

"What?"

"Come over to Zeke's with me now so you two can make up. That'll really make my stock rise with him."

Casey stammered, "...um...I..." He truly wasn't prepared to face Zeke right now. If he were in Zeke's presence, he would panic and stutter and be generally incapable of saying anything useful. But Sasha was looking at him so hopefully...

"He wants to talk to you, kitten, I promise. It'll be fine, you'll see."

"Okay," Casey agreed with reluctance, figuring he probably couldn't do much more worse to Zeke than he already had. Sasha held out a hand, which he used to pull Casey onto his feet.

They found Casey's dad in the kitchen, digging through the fridge. "Dad?"

Straightening up, his father said, "I was thinking about burgers for supper."

"That – that sounds good."

"On the barbecue, of course."

"Dad...I – I'm going to – to Zeke's for a bit."

His father made a visible effort not to scowl. "Okay." But true to form, he levelled a bit of silent accusation at Sasha.

Sasha was unfazed. "Mr. Connor, Zeke wanted to invite you and Mrs. Connor – and Casey, of course – to his place for dinner – er, tomorrow. Will you come? I'll be cooking."

"You?"

"I'm trained as a chef. What do you say?"

"Well..." It was nearly funny, seeing his dad struggle with his initial reaction and force it down in an attempt to be gracious. "If we don't have plans. I'll have to check with Allison."

"Sure, you let me know if you can't make it." Sasha winked at Casey.

"Do you... do you work in a restaurant then?"

"Not at the moment. Actually..." Sasha directed his next words to Casey. "I think there are a lot of opportunities in Seattle. It's a very happening place as far as the restaurant biz."

"Oh, so you're going to Seattle...too?" Casey's dad asked.

"Think so." Sasha favoured Casey with a big, bright grin. "Let's go."

The Mustang was parked out in front and for a second Casey was stricken, thinking Zeke had just shown up at his doorstep. Then he realized... "He lets you drive it?"

"Only in an emergency, kitten."

It was only a ten minute drive from home to Zeke's apartment, more than sufficient for Casey's nerves to take possession of him, body and mind. When they arrived, Casey couldn't make himself open the car door at first and Sasha had to do a little more persuading. Sasha let them into the apartment with his own key; Casey couldn't help but ask himself when Zeke had become so trusting of Sasha that he gave him a key and let him drive the Mustang. He trudged up the stairs behind Sasha, trying to suck in complete breaths.

Just inside the door Sasha announced, "I'm back!"

"Did you –?" Zeke started, from the bedroom. He emerged into the hall and broke off, seeing Casey there with Sasha.

"I brought someone with me," Sasha explained unnecessarily.

No one said anything. Plainly, Zeke had not been expecting this.

"Do I have to do everything?" Sasha complained loudly. "I'm going for a walk – you two are on your own."

And just like that he was gone and they were alone together, both standing in the doorway. Zeke showed no inclination to move elsewhere and Casey didn't dare take another step without some encouragement.

Zeke asked, a bit hesitantly, "Are you speaking to me?"

"Yes," Casey gulped.

Zeke's tension appeared to ease a little. "That's good," he breathed.

They stood there.

"If I talk, will you answer?" Zeke said then.

Casey nodded. "Try." His mouth was too dry for anything more.

"Okay," Zeke said, folding his arms. "Here's what I propose. You just let me ask the questions. You say 'yes, Zeke'– or 'no, Zeke.' First question....you do like me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"And you do want to come to Seattle with me?"

"Yes, Zeke."

"And there's something that's really bothering you although you can't really say it just yet. Something about me."

The silence filled Casey's mind, choked off his voice.

"You can say it, Casey," Zeke whispered.

"I...don't..."

"Say it."

"Yes," Casey got out, putting his hand on the wall.

Zeke went on, "And you'd really rather I didn't push you about it."

Casey pulled in a truncated breath, trying to steady himself. "...yes."

"Now, I need you to do something for me. If I promise not to pester you about whatever it is that's had you so – upset -- and let you decide when you want to tell me, then I need to know that you're not going to do something incredibly self-destructive in an attempt to make me sorry for it in the meantime. All right?"

"Yes."

"And that includes laying off the if-you-love-me-you'll-fuck-me attitude. Do we have an understanding?"

Casey nodded. "Yes, Zeke."

"Good. Now the minute you decide you want to tell me what's really on your mind, we'll just consider this agreement defunct. It's completely up to you, Casey."

"Zeke?"

"Yes?"

"I... I ripped up your journal."

Zeke was hurt -- how could he not be? – but as always he was generous to Casey. Casey had never ceased to know that Zeke was generous to him, and he was grateful for it. "Well, it was your journal," Zeke granted. "And the book said it could be a beneficial form of therapy – maybe that wasn't quite how they intended it, but whatever works, right?" He seemed to looking for some sort of smile and didn't get it, not this time. With a sigh he moved closer to Casey, winding an arm around him. Casey put his head against Zeke's shoulder.

"I do have to say one thing and this is not a demand for any kind of acknowledgment from you," Zeke went on. "I'm really sorry for what I said to you just now, about...being crazy. It was inexcusable."

"I'm s-sorry too," Casey muttered.

Zeke uttered a relieved sigh. Casey couldn't really see his face from where he was with his head tucked against Zeke's shoulder, but he guessed that Zeke was smiling by the way he was holding his body. "So, we know we're both really sorry. Let's work on some other state of mind, like curious... or happy, maybe. Do you think we can do happy?"

"Yes, Zeke."

They stood that way for a while before Zeke slowly and smoothly dipped his head down and kissed Casey. It was barely more than a touch of the lips but it was the taste of Zeke. Cigarettes, and a sweetish tang underneath.

"One more thing," Zeke added, rather offhand. "I'm practising abstinence for the foreseeable future. I'll give you all the kissing and cuddling you can take, but no sex. This is not me trying to push you or control you. This is a decision I've made for myself – because I'm really afraid that you're going to hate me at some point down the road." He paused, asked tentatively. "Do you hate me, Casey?"

"No, Zeke," Casey said instantly.

He would put off any consideration of the implications of the no sex rule until later, when it was safe to think about it.

Zeke made a sound that was suspiciously like a sob, and enfolded Casey completely in both arms. They just stood that way until Sasha came back, which was perhaps five minutes.

"I didn't think it would take very long," Sasha said, very pleased with himself.

 

Another day of emotional chaos had left Casey almost stunned with fatigue, so Zeke took him home without delay. Zeke was thinking he too could use a nap when he got back, but Sasha had a revelation of his own to deliver.

"I'm going with you to Seattle," he declared. "Don't even try to argue, Zeke. You need me, Casey needs me... and I could use a fresh start. So I'm imposing myself. I got tired of waiting for you to ask. I'll pay for my hotels and meals, don't worry."

Zeke did like to seem surprised – at least, so surprised that his mouth was hanging open. He closed it and frowned, wondering what, if anything, he should say.

"I'm afraid that if you and Casey get in that car together one or both of you won't make it to Seattle with body and soul intact. So just consider me your chaperone. And by the way, you invited Casey and his parents for dinner tomorrow night so maybe we should have a little chat about the menu."

Zeke had suspected that he had yet to discover how very brazen Sasha could be. Now he knew. "Dinner."

"Yup," Sasha said, eyes sparkling.

"Did they accept?"

"More or less."

"More or less?"

"Mmm hmm."

"And I suppose you told Casey you were coming with us."

"Sure thing."

"And he was happy about that?"

"You bet."

"Maybe you'd like to move in with us next?"

"Thanks for the offer, I'll think about it."

"Did you happen to discuss anything related to what you went over there for?"

"A bit." Sasha leaned back and let out a long breath. "I don't know what he's got in his head, Zeke, but I don't think it's what either of us thinks it is. I tried to ask him, and he got snippy with me. But I'm determined to believe that's a sign of improvement. It's just going to take some time."

"But for now I need a chaperone to protect me from him." Zeke rubbed his face. "It's crazy, but... fuck, he really knows how to push my buttons."

"That's why you need me around, Zeke," said Sasha sweetly. "If there's one thing I can do, it's interfere."

"Don't I know it," Zeke grumbled. "It shouldn't be necessary, though. I'm not an animal, dammit, I can control my impulses."

"Like you did the other night?"

"Okay -- I'm an animal."

"We're all animals, Zeke. Animals with big fat brains, but still animals. We get overwhelmed by emotion... even you. Casey knows that, and that's why he can play you the way he does."

"Not anymore."

Sasha raised his eyebrows.

"I just took a vow of celibacy."

"I don't think I want to comment on that... does Casey know?"

"I told him."

"Hmm," was all Sasha had to say about it.

It was time to change the subject.

"So what are we serving tomorrow night?" Zeke asked.

 

For the first time in a long time, Casey couldn't sleep.

Over barbecued hamburgers he had explained to his parents how it would be. He had been as fragmented as ever, but he succeeded in getting out the major points. He was going to Seattle. With Zeke... and Sasha. Upon hearing that Sasha would be coming with them, his mother had appeared to be more accepting if not actually happy about it. She offered to take Casey shopping for new clothes and to help him pack, and hugged him fiercely when they got up from the table. She didn't cry as much as Casey had feared. She said one thing just before she let him go. "Do you trust Zeke?" she had asked.

"Yes," he had answered.

His dad had offered to help him clean up "the disaster you call your room" before he retired for the night and went upstairs with him, almost but not quite holding his arm. Casey wouldn't complain about that, for he was every bit as exhausted as he had been night before, perhaps even more so. His legs were almost too weak to take him up the stairs.

"You know," his father had said. He was squatting down, picking up the paper on Casey's floor while Casey worked on clearing off the bed. "You'll never believe this, but when you were little you were really keen on games and sports. I remember for about a year there – you were around five or six – you said you were going to be a football player."

"Sorry," Casey had apologized.

His father had straightened up and handed Casey a pile of pages. "Nah, that's not what I'm getting at. Just...we used to get along is all." His dad had laughed a little, to himself. "You decided one day that football wasn't interesting. I guess it says something about your old man that he hasn't figured out yet what you figured out at five. You informed me one night at dinner. You've always been that way... figure out something on your own, then let us know over dinner."

"Dad."

"Hmmm?"

"I... want to get along with you."

His father had been very still and Casey thought then, this is what your father looks like when he's trying not to cry. His face had screwed up and gotten very red and his mouth was pressed together so tightly that the tracery of wrinkles etched themselves into deep grooves. He had reached out and put his hand on Casey's shoulder for a minute, taking long, shuddery breaths before saying good night.

Casey had fallen asleep immediately, but now it was the middle of the night and he was uncomfortably awake. He didn't think he had dreamed, but he had wakened with a feeling of endangerment that had him huddled under the sheets, shivering all over, his body clenched as small as he could make it.

Finally he got out of his bed and found his waste paper basket in the dark, where he had tossed all the blank pages from the journal. He grabbed the first one that came to hand, and his pen, and using a shaft of moonlight to see by, he wrote Roy's number on it.

Looking down at the seven digits, so very familiar, he whispered to himself, "Do you know how crazy you are right now?"

He crumpled the paper and put it in the waste paper basket, going back to bed.

After half an hour of lying there staring into the dark, he got up and retrieved the crumpled paper. He found his backpack in the closet, and tucked the little piece of paper into the smallest front pocket, smoothing it and folding it in half twice so it was the size of a pill.

After he did that, he was able to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Sunday morning at 7:00 saw Zeke more than ready to depart. The Mustang was humming, black and impatient on the curb, and they were all standing awkwardly there on the paved street in front of the Connor home.

"So," began Allison Connor, trying to say goodbye.

For Zeke, the last two days had crawled. It had barely taken him a day to finish his own packing and complete a few other remaining tasks. This included solving the puzzle of how to maximize the car's limited trunk space; in the end they had to ship several boxes. Once this had been handled, however, there were still an excess of minutes left to count.

Zeke had made himself available to help Casey and Sasha, but there really wasn't much to be done except conduct himself with the utmost maturity and sincerity in an effort to reassure Casey's parents that he could in fact be trusted. Perhaps they had accepted that this was Casey's decision, but they were far from being qualm-free. No one tried to pretend that this wasn't entirely different from two years ago when they had put him on the train and sent him the two hundred miles to Cincinnati to start college. Even had Casey been completely healthy, they would still have had to digest the fact that their child was truly leaving home.

Now confronted by the event itself, Casey's mom tried to choke out a few words, and then more or less disintegrated. Zeke was relieved to see that Casey didn't break down as he was enclosed in her tight grasp. "I'll be okay, Mom," he promised, his tone harsh from the struggle not to cry. "Really... it's okay."

Sasha, never one to be left out of the melodrama, looked like he was preparing to cast himself sympathetically on Allison's shoulder. Zeke nudged him and made a face that Sasha deliberately ignored, so Zeke was forced to share an uncomfortable moment with Frank Connor instead.

Finally Casey's mom stood back and, to Zeke's complete astonishment, Frank Connor stepped forward and hugged his son. It was still a man-hug – of short duration, capped with a few hesitant back pats – but a genuine expression of affection nonetheless. "You can come home any time you want," advised Casey's father, directing a warning glare at Zeke over Casey's shoulder.

"Okay, Dad."

It sounded like Casey's composure, not extremely solid to begin with, was dissolving. Enough was enough; Zeke didn't want to have Casey in ashes before they even got in the car.

"We'll call when we get to Stokely's," Zeke interposed – which was to say that it was time for them to leave. Father and son parted.

Zeke offered his hand to Casey's father, not sure of the reception it would get. After a scant pause, Frank Connor shook his hand, perhaps with just a little more force than was really required. He also shook Sasha's hand, which seemed to amuse Sasha exceedingly.

They had easily resolved who was sitting where in the car. A 1967 Ford Mustang was not a form of transport that was celebrated for its leg room, and Zeke had suffered a few pangs of guilt knowing that two of their merry band of three were going to use their height as a trump card. Casey didn't appear to mind, though. "Short people go in the back seat," he had said amiably. The less convenient truth was he probably preferred it back there, where he could validly withhold participation in front seat activities if he so wished. Zeke had stuffed two pillows back there for his comfort, and for his personal entertainment Casey had his backpack containing his discman and an array of music and books.

The Connors stood forlornly on the sidewalk, waving as Zeke drove away. He heard Casey sigh and wondered if it were relief or sadness – both, more likely. He peered in the Casey-view mirror. The occupant of the backseat was sitting dead centre looking out the front windshield, not terribly at ease if the flat mask he was wearing was any indication.

It had occurred to Zeke that, among other things, Casey was apprehensive about the journey, about leaving a known place and travelling such a distance to an unknown place, even with friends. Casey had always been slow to warm up to new situations, and then there was that whole problem of people potentially being aliens in human skin that Zeke tended to forget but was surely never far from Casey's mind. Zeke wondered whether it was more helpful to acknowledge the phobia or to ignore it. He wanted to ask Casey for his preference on that, but to ask would make the question redundant.

For his own part, Zeke was working hard to not over-think this departure. He would not make each point on the drive through town as significant as it felt. There was that cursed high school with its stone walls and arched entranceway, he would not think about how harmless it looked. He would not think about how this was the last time he'd drive past the Jam and the mall... it was foolish to think that way and none of them needed the occasion to feel any more meaningful than it was. Still. Though. For most of his life this had been his home, and it was as familiar to him as... well, as home.

"Who wants coffee?" Zeke asked, trying not to sound purposefully upbeat.

"Oh, god, yes," Sasha drawled.

"Yeah, coffee would be good," agreed Casey.

Sasha wondered, "What about breakfast?"

"My stomach isn't quite awake yet," Zeke said.

"Oh, all right... I'll grab a muffin. Casey?"

"Mom... made pancakes."

Zeke could not suppress a tingle of suspicion. Mom made pancakes... that he believed. Nothing was said about eating them...trust, Tyler, fucking trust... These were unworthy thoughts.... but on the other hand, if Casey shed one ounce on this trip it would be Zeke Tyler's fault. If Casey shed one tear, it would be Zeke Tyler's fault.

The past two days had been free of major incidents at least. Zeke figured he could live with the status quo that he had negotiated – except that he now had to become used to the feeling that Casey was lobbing hostile glares at him every time his back was turned. And then there were the bristly moments when Casey would go rigid and be unable to contain some little jibe or comment. And the silences, too.

Perhaps all this wouldn't have bothered Zeke quite so much if it weren't that the rest of the time Casey was trying to hug or snuggle or otherwise cling to him, apparently without any notion of when it was convenient for Zeke. In fact, it seemed that the more likely it was to make Zeke uneasy, the more likely it would happen. Like the other night when Sasha had cooked for Casey and his parents at Zeke's apartment. Casey had glommed onto Zeke the moment he came in the door, and later wanted to hold Zeke's hand under the dinner table. Zeke had to shake him off so they could eat their meal and then had to stomach an angry stare even as he tried to consume grilled salmon and lobster mashed potatoes.

The Mustang ambled into the Starbuck's parking lot – for the last time. He opened his door and put one foot out on the pavement while asking, "Who wants what? Case, just coffee with milk? Sasha?"

"I'll get it," Sasha offered.

"Nah, I'll go." Zeke was not going to give anyone the impression that he was scuttling out of town, avoiding the light like a cockroach.

"In that case," Sasha said, yielding, "I'll have a non-fat grande decaf cappucino and a low-fat muffin."

"I mighta guessed," was Zeke's reply.

He enjoyed the early morning freshness as he strolled across the lot, thinking that it was a perfect day for traveling – neither too bright nor too hot. He knew not to expect the temperature to remain as moderate as they proceeded west across prairie and desert. The pleasant conditions should be enjoyed while they lasted.

Inside the coffee shop he was surprised to find Delilah. She was not a customer; she was waiting for him, dressed for work and standing near the counter, just standing and not drinking coffee, watching the door with a clear purpose.

"Forget something, Zeke?" she suggested when he got close enough.

Aw, shit... There was no point attempting excuses so he said immediately, "I'm sorry, I should have called... how did you...?"

"I knew you were leaving bright and early today, and I figured this would be your first stop."

They could easily have missed each other, though. Zeke found that he would have regretted that. "So – you're here to see us off?"

"Where's Casey? In the car?"

"Where else?" Zeke approached the counter. The girl behind it took his order, wide-eyed.

"I'll need to say good-bye to him," Delilah asserted.

"Of course." Zeke paid for the coffee.

Now there were a few minutes to wait, thanks to Sasha. Delilah said, "I haven't said... thank you... about the house."

"Don't mention it."

"It's a house, I have to mention it," Delilah snapped. "Anyway... I'm really grateful. I just had to say that."

Zeke replied easily, "It's okay, Del."

"And I'm glad we're not married."

Zeke grinned. "Right back ‘atcha."

"What were we thinking?"

Well, he was leaving town... "I don't know about you, but I was thinking about someone whose company I liked... someone who can be a lot of fun."

Delilah showed her model-perfect teeth. "Surprised you, didn't I? You know, Casey told me once that he thinks I'm pretty cool... well, he said when I'm not being a bitch."

"It was the bitch that I liked," Zeke admitted.

Her smile widened. "And I always enjoyed the prick in you."

"Grande non-fat decaf cappucino!" called the barista.

Zeke offered Delilah a kiss – a quick, goodbye peck – and she accepted it with aplomb.

"But," Delilah added softly after their lips parted, "if you're a prick to Casey, this bitch will kill you."

 

"Wowza," Sasha remarked. "Who's that?"

Casey peered out at the person approaching the car alongside Zeke. "Delilah."

"Delilah, your ex?"

"Zeke's ex," Casey corrected. He began the process of extracting himself from the back seat of the car, pushing his backpack out of the way. Sasha got out first and offered Casey a hand to pull him out.

Zeke handed Casey his coffee with the statement, "Guess who I found. Seems like we forgot to make a certain phone call."

"Oh... sorry," Casey apologized.

"It's okay, I just had to intercept you at the crack of dawn is all..." Her voice trailed away. She noticed Sasha. "Hello," she said, tentative.

Zeke introduced them perfunctorily: "Sasha, Delilah... Delilah, Sasha." He took Sasha's arm and added, none too subtly, "Let's go over here for a minute."

Casey had a great fear of Delilah becoming teary. It was like that with the ones who rarely cried; Delilah would be appalled by herself and that would require him to get distressed on her behalf. He prayed that it wouldn't happen this time; it had already been a long enough morning with his parents and they hadn't gotten past the city limits yet.

"So," Delilah said. "You're out of here."

"Yeah."

"I hope you'll visit."

"Okay," he said, having no idea if it would happen or not.

"You look a lot better," she observed unexpectedly. "Since – the hospital."

His last memory of her was her birthday party. He struggled to unearth an image that she could be referring to and came up with nothing. "The... the hospital?"

"You don't remember?"

"Sorry," was all he could offer.

Delilah was almost undone. She looked at the sky and the ground, anywhere but at Casey, while her throat worked convulsively. Casey wanted to take her hand but knew from experience that she wouldn't like that. When they dated she had been stringently opposed to handholding in public although the odd kiss on the lips was allowed. "It's not like we need to advertise," had been the motto.

"‘s okay," she said now, recovering equanimity. "You were rather... out of it."

Without warning Delilah was in motion, gliding towards him. He didn't know what this was... until she had clasped him a concise hug. It was over almost the second he had it figured out. "You're going to be splendid in Seattle," she said, flashing her most appealing smile. "You and Zeke will be great together, just... don't let him get away with crap, okay?"

"Right," he said.

"Say hi to Stan for me," she added slyly. "And Stokely."

"Okay, enough!" Zeke called to them. "I want to get out of here some time today."

"I'm done!" returned Delilah. Then she gave Casey an agitated little grin. "You won't forget me?"

"I wouldn't do that," he replied sincerely.

With a proper smile now, Delilah leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. Her lips were as soft as he remembered. She pulled back and said loudly, "Bye, Zeke!" before heading off to her car.

They piled back into the Mustang and were soon heading north to Toledo. Yesterday Zeke had sat Sasha and Casey down and, with great seriousness, outlined their itinerary, which was basically a straight shot west on the I-90. He had looked eagerly to Casey and Sasha for their commentary on the route and was a bit disgruntled when neither or them had any strong opinions.

A sign proclaimed Now Leaving Herrington and Zeke chimed, "Seven forty-seven. Not bad."

"Are you one of those road-trip Nazis?" Sasha demanded of Zeke. "Just tell me now."

"I like to get an early start is all."

"Hmm, what was my first clue? Was it maybe the fact that you set not one but two alarm clocks for five thirty in the friggin' morning?"

"I've noticed that some people have trouble waking up."

"You can't mean me. I'm a light sleeper –"

Casey tuned them out.

 

Despite the general tension in the car, Zeke felt more renewed than he had for a long time. At last Herrington – and maybe, just maybe the spectre of aliens -- would be behind him. Sure, everything was not exactly wonderful in his life, but at least he had set something in motion that he felt confident would bear positive results. He had called Stokes the night before to confirm their departure; they were expected in Seattle in five days, barring any disasters. Watching those miles fall away, hearing the noise of engine and wind as the centre line blurred past, Zeke contemplated the immediate future and found it promising.

He'd had a brand new car stereo installed in the Mustang. He wasn't afraid of the silence – nope, not him. There was just nothing like heading down the road with the tunes blaring. Right now, however, it was still early for tunes and he was hungry. Spotting a McDonald's ahead, he queried of his fellow travellers, "I'm going to grab a McMuffin. Anyone else want anything?"

"Ugh," Sasha responded. "You've got to be kidding."

Zeke ignored that; he would save the next philosophical debate over food for later in the day. "Casey?" Nothing from the back seat. "Case?"

"Hmm."

Zeke glanced in his mirror. Eyes that were just a trifle too wide stared glassily at him. "You want anything from Mickey Dee's?"

"No... thanks."

Ten minutes later with a sandwich and a hash brown in his gut, Zeke was ready for the long haul. "Okay... " he stated briskly. "Shall we have some music? We can take turns choosing them."

"Sounds good," Sasha said readily. "But I have one stipulation. When it's another person's turn there's absolutely no comments or complaints about the selection."

"Okay. But driver gets first pick."

Sasha shot a sideways look at him. "I'm not so sure about that. Casey?"

"Doesn't matter," came the reply.

Wincing, Sasha agreed, "All right, driver's pick. Be gentle, Zeke."

Despite the rule that music selection was to be absolute, Zeke made a point of choosing Van Morrison on the assumption that it would be inoffensive, but Sasha's mouth immediately got tight. "What?" Zeke snapped.

Sasha's grimace began to mutate into a smirk. "All set for college life, are you?"

"Remember the rule? No commentary?"

"Okay, okay."

"I like Van Morrison," Zeke said hotly. "I've always liked Van Morrison. I didn't think there was anyone who didn't like Van Morrison."

"Well, guess again."

"I suppose you only listen to Barbra Streisand and Savage Garden."

"As a matter of fact, my favourite type of music is jazz, but I also like most contemporary pop music."

The banter broke off for a moment, as both Sasha and Zeke were expecting to hear something from Casey. They got the usual silence. Sasha twisted about in his seat to address Casey. Zeke didn't look; he imagined Casey would be in the same taut pose as before, staring out the window.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," Sasha said to the back seat. "Why don't you lean on the pillow, kitten?"

There were sounds of activity in the back. If Sasha had been talking to Zeke he never would have gotten away with that mouthful of saccharine. But Sasha was not talking to Zeke, who had noticed that Casey accepted portions of mother hen from Sasha that were not palatable from anyone else. In fact, these days even the mildest inquiry from Zeke seemed to irritate Casey.

The morning zipped by; around noon they pulled over at a gas station with attached restaurant, at an exit just the other side of the Ohio-Indiana border. It was a fairly busy place; the parking lot was filled with transport trucks. This was a sign that the food was good and Zeke would have loved to check it out but Casey's mom had packed them a lunch on the theory that they would want to avoid at least one restaurant meal. They stood right next to the car and ate meatloaf sandwiches, carrot sticks and chocolate brownies. Zeke saw Casey gazing wistfully towards the restaurant and recalled that Casey had consumed a venti sized coffee about four hours ago.

"Gotta take a piss," Zeke announced. "Er... you coming, Case?"

He walked in that direction, not looking behind. He heard Casey scuffling up behind him, staying close to Zeke as they went in.

"Bathroom?" Zeke asked the surly woman standing at the glass counter at the front of the restaurant. Under the counter was a selection of pastries, sandwiches, beverages and fruit. The pastries looked rather tempting.

"Bathroom is for customers," she snapped, her eyes raking them. She paused on Casey, giving him a hard twice-over. Zeke was keenly aware that Casey didn't exactly blend into a crowd, especially as he was almost on Zeke's back.

"Then I'll take a toasted Danish and, um... a coffee, to go," Zeke returned smoothly.

The woman narrowed her eyes. "That way." She pointed to one end of the restaurant, which was rather full of people. Many of the customers were males who manifested the wardrobe and physique of those who drove for a living.

Zeke half-turned, just to make sure Casey was still with him. Casey's face was communicating sheer panic; Zeke apprehended suddenly that Casey was going to grab his hand and maybe the rest of him too. He couldn't handle that in this place, at this time, so he seized Casey's arm and hauled him down the passage between the rows of booths, staring grimly at the sign marked, "Men."

There was a long mirror above the two urinals. As he did his business, Zeke assessed Casey in the mirror as objectively as he could manage. It really was time for a haircut. And how could someone sleep so much and still look so tired? With the overgrown hair and a visage that was constantly just at the point of surrendering its fragile hold on calm, Casey looked like someone you'd avoid on the bus – yet to Zeke's eyes he was as strange and unearthly beautiful as ever, and Zeke feared the reactions of the general public to this being that he himself worshipped.

Now they had to fetch the Danish and coffee that Zeke had promised to purchase. It turned out that the woman had just put the Danish in the toaster, which would have been okay except that while they were standing there in the narrow corridor between the counter and the exit, a large table had finished their meal; six guys got up and stood behind Zeke and Casey at the cash register, talking loudly. It made for a very crowded space; Casey had to be feeling trapped. Zeke knew it for a fact when Casey started to wheeze a little, hanging onto the glass counter with a hand.

"Excuse me," Zeke called out to the surly woman. "Never mind the Danish, I'll just pay for it and go, okay?"

This caused a minor outburst. "I'll take his Danish, Renie!" exclaimed the man behind Zeke. "They make them real good here," agreed another, probably right in Casey's ear. That man shifted his weight and moved as someone pushed through the clutter in that narrow space. He jostled Casey, forcing him up against the counter for just a second.

"Sorry," he apologized, off-hand.

Casey started to suck air like his lungs were failing. Zeke slapped some money down on the counter and took hold of Casey, fearing he would go catatonic at any moment. He steered Casey through the men while Casey hyperventilated. "He's claustrophobic," Zeke offered to the assembled spectators.

Then he watched helplessly as Casey threw up his mother's lunch in the ditch next to the car.

Zeke was having something of an attack himself. A little less than five hours and already he had screwed up. Score one for the parents... It was too soon to be out here. But this would have happened, now or a month from now, wouldn't it? It would happen in Herrington, it would happen no matter who Casey was with. It was cruel to think it, but Zeke understood that this would keep happening to Casey until he was ready for it to stop.

"All done?" Sasha was asking. He was bowed over beside Casey, rubbing his back.

Casey nodded, still labouring for breath. He peered unhappily at Zeke. "I'm s- so-sorry," he gasped.

"Not your fault."

"Just... gonna... have to... pee on the side... side of the road."

Zeke gaped at Casey, who at first didn't seem to realize he'd said anything funny. Then, seeing Zeke's face split into a rueful grin, he smiled. He drew a jagged breath and added wistfully, "I need gum."

Until this moment there had been something missing in Zeke's catalogue of revelations. I fucking love him went his head, quite taken aback. How had he missed that one? Somehow he had figured out the oddball friendship, the unrequited lust and the obsession, and totally missed the bottom line.

Still grinning like an idiot, he said to Casey, "I'll get you some gum... be right back."

Casey fell asleep in the back of the car shortly after they got back on the road. Zeke started to feel a little drowsy himself mid-way through the afternoon; mile after mile of corn and soy was having a soporific effect. The only variation was in the sky, where the original bright grey was becoming heavy and more concentrated. Zeke asked Sasha to take over the driving.

They didn't talk much while Casey was sleeping and that was just fine with Zeke. He sat quietly watching the clouds thicken and lower, getting darker and darker until they were almost blue, and finally with a snake of lightning and a tremendous crack, they let go of their moisture. Within moments the downpour was so heavy that it was difficult to see the road.

"Are you okay to keep going?" Zeke asked Sasha.

"Of course!" Sasha snarked. "Geez."

Whereupon then the rain got even more violent, and Zeke was about to say something again –

"I'm pulling over," Sasha conceded. "Just ‘til it eases up."

They settled onto the shoulder of the highway. Some other cars on the Interstate had done the same; others continued obstinately on their way. Sasha left the engine running in order to keep the fan blowing, despite which the windows became entirely fogged over for a while. Zeke listened to the clatter of rain on the roof and windshield and thought, this is one of those things you will remember.

He heard a groan behind him. Casey, getting upright.

"Hello, sleeping beauty," Sasha welcomed him.

"How long have we –?"

"We just pulled over. How are you feeling?"

"...'mm...slept funny... neck hurts."

"Poor kitten," Sasha crooned. "A hot shower should fix that up."

"You're driving," Casey noticed.

"Zeke needed a break."

"Oh."

"It just occurs to me... do you drive, kitten? I guess it was never really that important in the big city so I never thought about it."

"No."

"No one ever taught you?"

"Um... no."

"Then we're going to have to teach you one of these days, kitten."

No one said anything to that. Zeke was ashamed to realize that he was not willing to let Casey behind the wheel, at least for the time being.

"Where are we?" Casey asked.

The downpour was ending just as suddenly as it began; Zeke could see the sun trying to break through cloud up ahead. "About fifty miles from Gary," he answered. "That'll be a good place to stop for the night. We don't want to get too close to Chicago, that'll just waste time."

Gary was a small city but big enough to provide all the necessary amenities. They found a convenient stretch of highway on the outside of the city where hotel chains and fast food joints were accessibly lined up. Sasha grumbled something about "wearing this trip on his waistline" as he surveyed their options. The choice of hotel was a simple matter of finding the Comfort Inn. Zeke and Sasha went in, leaving the Casey with the car which was parked in the circular drive in front of the building.

The person behind the desk was a teenaged girl wearing excessive quantities of makeup and hairspray. "Hi," she greeted them disinterestedly. "Can I help you?"

"We'd like –" Zeke started, and then realized they'd had no discussion about the sleeping configuration. "Do you have double rooms?"

"‘Course," said the girl.

"We might as well share," Sasha suggested casually, just as Zeke was hoping. "God, why am I having flashbacks to Boy Scout days?"

"Okay, we'll take one double room," Zeke said, fishing out his credit card.

While the girl was dithering with the computer, Zeke and Sasha put their heads together and quietly conspired that Casey should sleep with Sasha. They knew that Casey would want to sleep with Zeke, and even though nothing could possibly happen with Sasha in the room, Zeke would have a rough time with Casey in his bed.

 

"I can pay for tomorrow night," Sasha was saying for about the third time.

"But I told you, it's an expense I would be incurring anyway, so I really don't mind," Zeke said, also for the third time.

Travelling with Sasha and Zeke essentially meant listening to Sasha and Zeke argue. Casey understood that it was sport to them, but it tormented his nerves all the same. He was entirely conscious that they were his guardians, in practice if not in fact, and listening to them bicker was somewhat disquieting. Even worse, it put him in mind of two war buddies, trusting each other completely while they pulled through something terrible. Casey was the ordeal they were having to endure; he had no part in that companionable chatter.

"Then let me help with the gas," Sasha tried.

"The same goes for the gas," Zeke said dismissively, flipping open the menu for Carrie's Family Restaurant.

What Sasha didn't realize was that Zeke was accustomed to paying the way for other people. People like Casey... The night before they left Herrington, Casey's father had taken him aside and informed him that he and Zeke had worked through how they would divide up "the costs". Zeke would take care of the trip to Seattle. When they found a place to live, Casey's dad would pay his portion of the rent and Zeke would cover the other expenses. If and when Casey wanted to return to school, he and his dad would discuss it. This had all been negotiated without consulting Casey – and why should they consult Casey? He had nothing to contribute, after all. His part in this was to be sick.

Sasha was looking outraged. Apparently, this was the first time he had experienced the highhanded side of his new best friend. Casey was well acquainted with it. It had been out in strength this evening already. There was the way Zeke had arranged everything so that he and Casey could not at any point be alone together. Then when they were in their motel room before supper, Zeke made a point of reminding Casey to take his pill.

He knew Zeke only wanted to help him – and he needed a lot of help, didn't he? He had forgotten about the pill and they had already established that he couldn't even go to the bathroom by himself. If only he could give Zeke something in return for everything... but that had been forbidden. Zeke's prescribed interest in Casey's body was to make sure that it was adequately fed and watered. And Casey knew perfectly well that if Zeke faltered for a second, Sasha would be there to bring him in line.

"Salisbury Steak...Chicken Fried Steak...Pork Steak," Sasha was muttering, reading the menu now. "All those good all-American classics."

"For fuck's sake," Zeke said in a tight voice. "You're the one who insisted we come here."

"It was the lesser of many evils," Sasha replied haughtily. "But they don't even – "

"They have salad," Casey blurted, and oh, shit, he had said that out loud and they were staring at him. He lowered his head. "You – " he stuttered. "You two – you've been –"

"Yes?" Sasha asked neutrally.

"... arguing all day."

With his head down he couldn't see their expressions.

"We haven't been arguing," Zeke protested, sounding puzzled.

"I would call it light-hearted repartee," Sasha declared. "I wasn't mad at Zeke... until about a minute ago, that is."

Casey wished he could be a mute, that his vocal cords could actually break or dissolve. Then no one would care if he never spoke.

"I don't know what to say," Sasha admitted. "I had no idea. I'll try to control how much Zeke annoys me."

Zeke let out a snort. "Maybe you can control your urge to nag," he suggested.

"Okay, then you can control your overwhelming urge to be in control," Sasha retorted, then batted his eyes at Casey with a playful expression. "Sorry."

Casey played along, giving up a wan smile.

"I apologize for being difficult about where we eat." Sasha lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I'm a food snob. But I'll just shut up now and have my salad."

In the end, the salad was of acceptable quality. After they ate, they walked back to the motel; Zeke had insisted they walk the two blocks to the restaurant because it would be Good For Casey. It was now quite late, almost nine o'clock, and there was nothing to do with what was left of the day but hang around in the room. Casey found that he wasn't ready for sleep yet, which was strange. Most days he was barely able to hold his eyes open long before night fell.

He was used to being scared. He had been scared for the better part of the past several years, but this constant jangling sensation along his nerves like he was in some danger that was lurking just outside his peripheral vision – that was a new symptom. It had been with him frequently since he and Zeke came to their understanding. He didn't know what he worried would happen; he only knew everything was unfamiliar and he was at large in the world, completely dependent on Zeke.

Of course, Zeke would take care of him, there seemed little doubt about that. If it had to do with his general health, Zeke was all for it. Meanwhile Zeke refused to touch him with anything resembling sexual interest, and that was supposedly Good For Casey too. Just when Zeke had seemed ready to step up and take what Casey genuinely wanted him to have, he suddenly backed down. So it was Good For Casey for Zeke to control every aspect of his life but to deny him the only thing that had the potential to make him feel good. Casey wished he had the self-respect to stop seeking those little bits of physical contact that Zeke allowed him – but he had no such thing as self-respect. He dreaded the moment that Zeke withdrew further and refused even to touch him.

"Let's see what's on the tube," Zeke said. He bounded onto the bed he had chosen and began flipping through the on-screen guide. "Yell if you see anything you want to watch."

Casey watched Zeke, not the screen.

"Ahem?"

He blinked. "What?"

"I said, do you mind if I watch the news?" Zeke asked.

"No."

Zeke was getting comfortable with the pillows on the bed. He caught sight of Casey standing there like a junkie eying his fix, and patted the bed beside him. Casey wormed his way in and Zeke squirmed and shifted and jostled until they found just the right position, with Casey's cheek resting in a conveniently shaped hollow in Zeke's chest area.

It was not conducive to watching the TV but Casey didn't mind. He didn't like the news much; he avoided looking at newspaper headlines for fear of seeing the signs that they were back. Maybe it wouldn't be Aliens Attack Oklahoma. It would start with Citizens of Small Town Hospitalize Loner and then Democratic California Senator Urges Greater Social Control. Casey had gotten into the habit, a while back, of glancing quickly at newspapers as he walked by, just to check that the world wasn't ending. Of course, the world had ended anyway, but he was still watching, monitoring... Maybe for nothing. Maybe he was waiting for a recurrence of something that had never happened because false memories were false memories and that was that –

Sasha made a sound not dissimilar to an airplane engine.

Casey was temporarily dislodged as Zeke stiffened and looked over at the other bed. "Wow," he marvelled. "I didn't think he could make a noise like that."

"He's always snored," Casey murmured.

"Oh?" Zeke said, sounding very interested.

Casey reviewed what he had said. He sat up hurriedly, searching Zeke's face for disaster. Zeke seemed amused but that was no guideline. Zeke was generally at his calmest when he was most upset and Casey hadn't exactly behaved in ways that would encourage his full trust.

"Casey?" Zeke looked a bit disappointed. "What are you thinking now?"

"That... me... and Sasha..."

"I was just teasing, Casey. I don't subscribe to the theory that all gay men are constantly screwing each other at the drop of a hat. You know..." Zeke smoothed his voice and poured on a healthy dollop of charm. "Teasing?"

"Oh," Casey said with a raw throat.

"It was stupid of me." Zeke was looking pained now. "I should have thought."

"We never –"

"I know, Case. If it wasn't so blatantly, perfectly obvious that you two are just friends, I never would have tried to crack a joke."

Casey nodded uneasily. "He used to stay with me... at Roy's... a lot," he ventured.

"Did Roy ever get jealous?"

"No..." But there had been that time when Roy had come in and found them asleep together in the big bed. He had seemed amused more than anything, and when Sasha was gone Roy had gotten in the bed with Casey, slid cold hands up under Casey's shirt, murmured so nice of Sasha to keep you warm for me.

Sasha's snore broke off. "...what?" he asked sleepily.

"Nothing," Zeke said loudly. "Go to sleep."

"Ugh...‘don wanna sleep in my clothes..."

Sasha dragged himself up and disappeared into the bathroom for several minutes. He re-appeared in t-shirt and boxers, scrubbed, buffed and polished. As he was passing by the bed Zeke and Casey were using he stopped. Standing between them and the TV, he said, "Kitten, do you want to sleep with me?"

This conversation had been planned all along, of course. Zeke and Sasha had their secret pacts, their silent understandings....It was far too dangerous for Casey and Zeke to sleep together in the same bed ...Another rule as decreed by Zeke... enforced by Sasha.

"Fine," Casey said and moved immediately from Zeke's vicinity.

"You don't have to go now," Zeke said.

"Yes, I do have to go now," Casey returned coldly.

"Case..."

There was this thing that kept happening to him. It had happened first in Spadoni's office and now it was happening quite often when Zeke said something or did something. It was such a physical experience, like a needle was stuck in his vein. It would flood his body with a fearless power, so he was taking two drugs in reality, but unlike the Paxil, this second, illicit drug worked instantaneously. It seemed to burn anxiety for fuel so for those few minutes when it was flooding his body words would occur to him in whole sentences and those sentences would come out of him uncensored.

"I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable," Casey said to Zeke's unhappy face.

"Casey, it's not that I wouldn't like –"

"No, you can't lose control. I get it. We're just animals, we can't help ourselves. I know I certainly can't help myself. We couldn't have you fucking me with Sasha right here in the room, could we? That would be terribly embarrassing."

Zeke was stupified. Casey saw him glance quickly over at Sasha, asking for help, probably.

"Don't think that Sasha's shocked," Casey went on. "And he is here to help... I thought you two already discussed this, you do tell each other everything. In fact, maybe the two of you should sleep together and I'll sleep by myself."

"Casey!" gasped Sasha.

It was the sight of Sasha's appalled face that flattened him. That was the thing about this drug; the euphoria was intense but so very brief.

He darted into the bathroom. "Don't lock the door, Casey!" Zeke belted out behind him as he slammed it shut.

Casey tore off his clothes, desperate to get into the shower where his sobs could be muffled. Even then they sounded terribly loud to him, so he crammed his hands in his mouth and stood under the hot soothing water wishing he had the nerve to do something really damaging like beating his head on the wall until blood ran down the tiles... evocative image, blood running down the tiles... like Psycho... Janet Leigh and Anthony Perkins... Anthony Perkins as someone who took a direct approach to destroying his only friend... never really overcame the typecasting so the poor guy was forced to keep playing that madman over and over.

Even with unlimited hot water he did eventually start to feel cold. He took his time drying off and put back on the same clothes as before. He didn't want to open the bathroom door, but he pretty much had no choice. Eventually they would come and remove him. He put a foot into the room, looking around.

"Zeke went for ‘a breath of fresh air'," Sasha supplied right away. "And in his case that would be defined as ‘another dose of carcinogens'."

Miraculously, Sasha was not looking at Casey like he hated him; Sasha was lying in bed wearing what appeared to be two-piece cotton pajamas, holding a book on his lap. With the last comment, Sasha closed the book and smiled. "C'mere," he said and held open the covers so Casey could hurry to get under them. He had just climbed in when Sasha asked, "You don't want to change into your ‘jams?"

So Casey moved reluctantly, stripping down and quickly changing to a fresh pair of boxers and a clean t-shirt. Then he crawled back under Sasha's covers and lay there stiffly for a moment, until Sasha opened his arms and welcomed him. Curled up with Sasha, he closed his eyes and exhaled a shuddery breath.

Sasha was touching his hair idly, twirling the ends. "You really need to do something about this hair, kitten. The waitress at the restaurant kept looking at you like you were an escapee from the zoo."

"I should be locked up," Casey choked.

"Nope, that's too easy," Sasha said quietly. "You don't get to avoid us that way. We expect you to be out here with us, even when you're bitchy."

"Sorry –"

"Don't tell me. Tell Zeke. Tomorrow morning, though, not now. Everyone's too tired to be at their best."

It was kind of Sasha to lump them all together and not remark that it was Casey who was a quivering wreck at the end of every day. Casey dozed off to the sensation of Sasha's rhythmic stroking against his tight skin.

 

Casey bolted up, shivering, heart racing. He was having a full out panic attack. For whole minutes he wheezed and panted, trying to remember this place, trying to believe he wasn't dying. The familiar sound of snoring very close to his ear brought him some sense of where and when. He looked over at the other bed, at Zeke, who happened to be lying facing him, deep in sleep.

Staring at Zeke from ten feet away didn't make anything better. He started to feel quite certain that he would die after all, and it just seemed right to get out of Sasha's bed and slide into Zeke's. It felt right to move as close as he dared, close enough to detect the perfume of Zeke – a heady musk of male and shower and cigarettes. And beer – that must have happened after Casey fell asleep. He positioned himself parallel to Zeke with half a handspan between them. Within a few minutes his breathing eased.

He fell into a light sleep but woke when Zeke rolled over and got so close to Casey that they were skin to skin, and Casey had a close-up view of Zeke's mouth, murmuring things that were not quite words. Zeke's body was like a furnace. He had a very full erection that was sending greetings to Casey's hip.

Just for a few moments Casey thought his penis might respond in kind, but... nothing. His body was broken.

Zeke moved slightly, unconsciously discovering that there was a source of friction nearby; he worked his hard cock against Casey's leg. Casey had a dilemma, briefly. After a second or two of enjoying the satisfaction that rose inside him at the pressure of Zeke against his thigh, he realized that there was no way this could happen. Zeke would not stay asleep, he would not think it was a dream, and when he realized what Casey had done, he would be furious. He might not forgive Casey.

"Mmm... Casey?"

Suddenly Zeke reared up halfway, his eyes wide.

"Casey?" he gulped. Zeke was completely upright now, pushed back against the headboard. Casey sat up as well, keeping a good sized space between them. "How long have you been here?" Zeke pulled up his knees defensively, trying to hide his arousal even though he had to know that Casey had been intimately aware of it.

"Not long –" Casey started to say, to explain.

"How long have you been here?"

Zeke would not settle for inaccurate answers when he was as embarrassed and shaken as he was now. "I'm – not sure." Casey thought about the light in the room, where it had been and where it was now. "H-half an hour... I think."

"Casey," Zeke said, with barely contained fury. "Did we not have an understanding about this?"

"I didn't...didn't mean... I just... I wanted to lie down with you."

Zeke didn't appear to believe this.

Behind him, Casey could see that Sasha had been moving restlessly for the last part of this exchange. Now he seemed awake enough to discover that someone was missing and he too sat upright in a hurry, crying Casey's name.

"He's accounted for," Zeke replied, on a slow simmer.

Sasha looked befuddled. "When did you get over there?"

"He says half an hour ago," Zeke replied tightly. "Sasha... I need to talk to Casey alone... if you don't mind."

"All right." Still puzzling, Sasha took note of the time. "Six o'clock... you'll be wanting to get in the car any second now... I'll shower." Sasha stumbled past them and shut the bathroom door firmly.

Zeke seemed to have recovered from the blow to his dignity and his unwanted arousal too. He was on his feet, pacing as he spoke. "I can't believe you just did what you did." Zeke took a position at the foot of the bed, looming over Casey. "We talked about this – and anyway I would have thought you'd have a little respect for my privacy."

There was nowhere to go. Whatever Zeke said, Casey would have to hear it.

"Casey. You with me now?"

He nodded.

"Don't you have anything to say?"

If he opened his mouth he would wail. He shook his head, concentrating on a particular flower on the patterned bedspread.

"You must have something to say," Zeke insisted. "You had plenty to say last night."

"I just – wanted – to – to –"

"You wanted to lie down."

"Yes," he whispered. The flower was orange with pink on the edges and in the centre –

"Well, you won't do it again. Can you do that much?"

– in the centre it was a cluster of tiny purple and black dots.

"Casey?"

He started, looked up, and understood that he had lost at least as long as it took Zeke to get dressed. Zeke was standing in front of him and he had his hands on Casey's shoulders. He didn't look like he was having one of his more patient moments.

"You did that on purpose, Case."

"No," he croaked.

"Yes, you did. It's safe for now, okay? I've stopped yelling." Zeke turned away from him and began stuffing things into his suitcase, zipping it up assertively. "I wish you wouldn't do that. It's not fair."

"I'll try," Casey muttered.

Zeke didn't answer. He said with his back to Casey, "Don't forget your pill."

His other, bitter-tasting drug was certainly working faster, if not better. It welled up now at Zeke's not-quite-tolerance, his assuming the worst and that he could regulate and control everything. It welled up at the International House of Pancakes when Casey wanted the bathroom and Zeke offered to go with him. He rejected the offer with a glare and a head shake. Then when he returned to his seat he discovered that Zeke had ordered breakfast for him. He didn't dare say anything since Zeke had chosen to put aside Casey's abhorrent behaviour of last night and this morning. He sat in that booth and obediently choked down exactly fifty-one per cent of what was on his plate.

When they were back in the car and flying across Illinois, Casey put Linkin Park in his discman to drown out the sound of Sasha's Natalie Cole. He turned the volume up loud enough to guarantee that if Zeke and Sasha said anything about him he wouldn't hear it.

It was a very long day of driving through field after monotonous field. Casey listened to Linkin Park and then the Deftones and after that he moved on to Disturbed. Later he fell asleep again listening to Sasha and Zeke quibble over sightseeing detours. Sasha had suddenly come to realize that they would be driving very close to the Badlands of South Dakota and he was lobbying for a brief deviation from The Route in order to see them. Zeke, being Zeke, felt that he was the principal navigator as well as the driver by a priori right. He was determined to maintain a straight line all the way to Seattle, with no unscheduled or irrelevant stops.

They arrived in Sioux Falls at 8:00 that night, having paused for supper earlier in some town, it was impossible to care which. When the time came to check into the next motel, it didn't need to be discussed. They would share a double room again and Casey would keep to Sasha's bed.

This time Casey woke near dawn, in the semi-darkness. Sasha was lying apart from him, on his back, with one hand on Casey's arm. Zeke was a solid lump in the other bed, his back to them. Both men were sound asleep. At first Casey's heart was making such a racket he couldn't believe it didn't wake them up. It gradually came back to something like normalcy, but was still thrumming as he lay there for a while hoping to fall asleep again. It wasn't going to happen.

Carefully, he extricated himself, watching for a sign that Sasha's sleep was being disturbed, and got out of bed. He crept to the door. Before opening it he pushed aside the curtain in the window immediately to the right of the door and satisfied himself that there were no people around. It was early morning at an exit just outside Sioux Falls; trucks and cars went by fairly regularly on the highway but few stopped, and it was too early for most people to be up and about. It was safe enough.

The small, grassy median in the centre of the parking area suggested a children's play area with the placement of a Wal-Mart swing-set. Casey walked out to it and sat down on one of the plastic swings, letting his own momentum carry him forward into a gentle to-and-fro. Gradually the sense of imminent peril faded to a dull apprehension. His eyelids drooped a bit as he swung back and forth, hypnotized by the green blur under his feet and the frequent whoosh of vehicles passing on the highway.

"Casey!"

Zeke was sounding upset again. Casey twisted in the swing and saw Zeke charging at him from their room, Sasha standing behind him in the open door. Zeke was wearing his jeans and that was all; Sasha was still in his pajamas.

"Casey – what the fuck are you doing?"

The tone was that of an outraged parent. Casey put his feet down and dodged Zeke's hand that was grabbing for him. "Nothing," he muttered.

"Nothing–?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't figure out how to amuse yourself without freaking us out?"

"How about you just tie me down on the bed?" Casey proposed sweetly.

Sasha was close behind Zeke now, having thrown on a shirt and pants although both were unbuttoned. "Casey," he puffed. "If I weren't so relieved that you're alive, I think I'd have to kill you." He was shaking, nearly crying with anger. "Do you have any idea what I – what we thought? Waking up and finding you gone?"

"Sasha..." Zeke murmured.

"Don't you ever – ever – you don't leave the room, or the car, or whatever, without telling one of us, do you understand? I don't care if you don't like it."

Tears sizzled in Casey's eyes. Sasha had never talked to him like this, never. But it was what he deserved, he supposed. Do nothing for yourself for too long and people would come to believe you were capable of nothing.

"Sasha, that's enough," Zeke said quietly, looking at Casey with some slight sympathy. "Come on... let's go get packed up. I'm hungry."

 

Zeke had never expected to see a failure of that good-natured ease that Sasha projected at the entire world, but then Zeke had never seen Sasha as terrified as he was when they woke up and realized Casey wasn't in the room. Neither of them dared speak the specific fear that had taken them instantly. They had seen nothing to suggest that a suicide attempt was even a possibility, but they also knew that didn't mean a damn thing. Zeke had paid particular attention to that part of the book and knew that apparent improvement could just as easily be a warning sign. And after yesterday, Zeke wondered if Casey was improving at all.

No. All that self-centred, sullen emotion had to be an improvement, because if it weren't, Zeke would have to give in to temptation at some point and put Casey out on the side of the road.

Zeke knew he had been harsh with Casey yesterday morning. At the time, he couldn't believe that Casey had embarrassed him that way, wriggling right inside Zeke's dreams and rubbing up against him without his consent. Since then he had decided it had to have been unintended, because he couldn't accept anything else. No, Casey had merely invaded his personal space out of some desperate need for physical contact with him, and after Zeke tore a strip off him he had lapsed into a brooding silence for the rest of the day, obeying instructions with seething eyes. He had kept the volume on his CD player so high that Zeke almost could listen to it himself, and whatever it was, it was violent, full of visceral howling and screaming and apocalyptic guitars. At one point Zeke saw in the mirror that Casey was rocking slightly as he listened to it. Casey's lips were moving, almost but not quite soundless. He had done that without a break – except to change CDs – for hours, no doubt aware and quite pleased that he was making Zeke and Sasha uneasy. They were both tense to the point of exhaustion when Casey himself had finally hunkered down with his pillows and gone to sleep, mid-afternoon.

And now. They were both scared, but it was Sasha who rose up dictator-style and crushed Casey. Suddenly Zeke could appreciate what it must feel like to be chastised for doing simple things that anyone else would take as their prerogative. The tears Zeke saw in Casey's eyes at Sasha's words seemed to hold humiliation as much as anger. From Casey's perspective it must seem like he was imprisoned in his caretakers' web and his only option to show some independent spirit was to defy the system a little – or a lot.

So Zeke said to Sasha, "That's enough," bemused at being the person who was calling for a level head for once. He tried to think of a way to extend a hand to Casey without seeming paternalistic, and couldn't, so he settled for turning and going back to the hotel room, assuming that Casey would follow. Casey did, although Zeke half expected him to turn about and bolt, requiring them to chase him down and make the oppressive regime show itself for what it actually was.

They had fallen naturally into a pattern where Casey showered at night, Zeke and Sasha in the morning. This time Sasha told Zeke to go first, perhaps wanting to make some amends. Zeke luxuriated in the pressure of hot water on the back of his neck, massaging out some of his tension. He emerged from the bathroom dressed and shaved and noted Casey sitting stiffly on the edge of one of the beds while Sasha busied himself collecting up his things.

"Your turn," Zeke said to Sasha. "And then –"

"I know," Sasha sighed. "Breakfast."

"You make it sound like some sort of perverse habit."

"Eating bacon and eggs every day is perverse," Sasha tossed off, but without his usual enthusiasm. He walked deliberately over to Casey and kissed his forehead. Casey didn't react, didn't soften to the kiss or demonstrate any of his usual hug- seeking behaviours.

Sasha disappeared into the bathroom, and Zeke was alone with Casey, who remained exactly as he was, isolated. Zeke couldn't figure how things had gotten so shaky, so quickly.

He gave himself a sensible talking-to. A week ago Casey had been in a hospital, and in the opinion of some, probably should still be there. Recovery was not a straight dash up a long, steady incline, there would be bumps, valleys even. This felt more like a crevasse, though, and they still seemed to be falling.

Zeke set about tidying up the room, resisting the urge to ask Casey if he had taken his pill. He had a pretty fair idea that the only reason Casey was forgetting to take them was Zeke's insistence on reminding him. When Zeke was ready to go and Casey still had not moved, every instinct screamed to leave Casey alone but he couldn't do it. He was obligated to interfere. "Are you ready?"

Casey moved his head; it resembled a nod.

"You have things laying out, though," said Zeke, hating the way he sounded. "And you haven't even brushed your teeth."

Slowly Casey got up and gathered his few items and put them in his suitcase. Before Zeke could ask, he pulled out his bottle of Paxil and overtly dry-swallowed one, staring at Zeke. He didn't submit to the invitation to brush his teeth, or attempt to smooth down his hair which was standing straight up in places. Zeke started to collect their suitcases and take them to the car, intending to be long-suffering and silently tolerant but all at once a need rose and wailed free.

"What is it that you want to say?" he begged Casey. "Or is it something... something you want from me? Tell me and I'll try to do it."

Casey stared morosely at him and didn't answer. Everything was close to erupting, just so close now that Zeke felt sure that Casey was going to split right down the centre. He just wished he had some idea what would be borne forth, so he could prepare himself.

"Okay," he surrendered. "You don't want to tell me now. But I'll be waiting to hear it... whenever you're ready."

So it was on to breakfast then, and Sasha renewed his argument that they needed to see the Badlands. "We can't miss them," Sasha pressed. "Today will be our chance."

"This isn't a sightseeing tour," Zeke grumbled.

"It's one hour out of our way. Surely, O Philosophy Major, you can see the educational merit in taking the time to experience something spiritually and aesthetically meaningful."

"Not necessarily," Zeke hedged. "But – " He broke off, tired of debating, needing to demonstrate that he was less tyrannical than some people might think. "All right, okay. What the hell."

They both looked to Casey in the hope that he might have an opinion or comment to make. But no. He was hunched over his bagel, of which he had not bothered to take a single bite. Seeing the eyes on him, he picked the bagel up and tore its throat out, chewing joylessly.

It occurred to Zeke that they were in over their heads here.

Casey let the bagel fall. "Need the bathroom," he said gutterally, his lips bleached white. Zeke had to let him out, having deliberately wedged him in on one side of their booth, and watched Casey running away from them.

"Is it possible," Zeke said to Sasha, "that you overreacted this morning?"

"Not really, no. He scared the crap out of me."

"If we wanted to leave the room in the middle of the night and take a stroll along the highway, it wouldn't be an issue."

"It wasn't, though. It was him. Like it or not, he has to expect us to want to know where he is. I promised his mother I would watch him."

Zeke rubbed the space between his eyes. "And I think he's very aware that he's being watched, by both of us. He only slipped the noose for a few minutes and he didn't go far."

Sasha seemed on the verge of tears suddenly. "When I saw he was gone, Zeke, I thought... something terrible."

"I know."

"I really believed it...I thought... he's dead and...I envisioned myself trying to tell Allison..." Sasha shook himself. "But he wasn't. Isn't. God, what a mess."

Their server approached, a young man just on the verge of being done with adolescence. "Anything else?" he asked, scribbling on a notepad.

"No, thanks," Sasha said, checking the boy out while he wasn't looking. The boy laid their bills face down on the table, said, "thanks" and left.

Zeke cast a worried look in the direction Casey had gone. "Maybe I should..."

"No, leave him," Sasha decided. "He'll mutiny if we don't let him be to throw up."

"Shh... he's coming back now."

Casey slid in beside Sasha, looking miserable. "Are you done with that?" Zeke asked, indicating the bagel, and got a definitive yes. He didn't have the heart to push, seeing Casey lean his head against Sasha's arm and close his eyes, his throat working. With that, it seemed that Sasha's earlier outburst was forgiven. Zeke wished he could get that lucky.

"Right...we're off, then."

At nine o'clock it was already scorching hot. "This is going to be one sweaty day," Sasha observed as they set out across the flat terrain. Indeed, it didn't take long under that sun for the dark interior of the car to soak up enough heat to have them all pouring sweat. Having the windows down completely didn't help matters much either. And no one was talking.

"Are we anywhere near your old stomping grounds, Sasha?" Zeke asked, trying to chip at the silence. "Maybe we could stop in for a visit."

"Are you looking for a beating?"

Zeke laughed. "That's funny."

"No, we are not near ‘my old stomping grounds'," Sasha said crossly, "and even if we were, I wouldn't tell you." After a moment he eased up and said, "But it isn't much different from a lot of these small towns. You know, I do believe we should have some music."

"It's Casey's turn to choose," Zeke decreed. "Case?"

Casey waited long enough to let them know that he was answering unwillingly and then mumbled, "Don't care."

"You have music with you," Zeke recalled. "We all heard it yesterday so might as well pop it in there." He waved at the CD player.

"You won't like it."

"Why don't you let me decide that?"

"Roy didn't like it... Sasha doesn't either."

"Good thing it isn't Roy or Sasha's turn to pick the music."

Yielding, Casey passed a jewel case to Sasha.

"‘Disturbed'?" Zeke read, peering over at it. The cover images were unsettling.

Sasha groaned.

"Hey, remember your own rules," Zeke chided. "No whining."

"Okay, okay...sorry." Sasha slid the disc in.

It soon became abundantly obvious that "Disturbed" was exactly what the music was about. It was alternative metal and the singer had a punchy, rhythmic style when he wasn't screaming – interesting as far as Zeke was concerned, but it was really tough to follow the lyrics. He was making a point of listening, too, hoping for a glimpse into Casey's head. He made out enough to realize that every song really was about illness. The message was a mantra of rage at the fucked-up-ed-ness of everything.

Sasha was having a hard time with it. He was writhing in his seat and sighing dramatically, and wincing at every scream as drums and guitars filled the sweaty interior of the car. He made it through almost four songs. The fourth track contained something about "getting with the sickness" and this seemed to upset Sasha, but it was the conclusion of the song that did him in. The singer started to roar something to the effect of don't do it again, mommy, please don't hurt me mommy... how'd you like some of that, you stupid abusive sadistic fucking whore... and Sasha reached over and peremptorily pressed the stop button, cutting him off mid-psychosis.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, "but I can't, I just can't. I make no judgment on the artistic merit, I just can't hear that. I'm sorry, kitten."

He didn't sound very sorry, though.

"I was listening to that, you know," Zeke said. But he had to admit to himself that the screaming had been getting a little wearying.

Casey didn't say a word. He just stuck his hand out, asking for the CD back. Sasha obliged, saying, "Maybe there's something else–?"

Ignoring the query that was dangling, Casey took the CD, put it in his discman, slipped the headset on and resumed listening with the volume up as before, enclosed in his personal world of shrieks and wails of rage now muted to assuage Sasha and Zeke's sensibilities.

"Good work," Zeke muttered.

"Sorry," growled Sasha, folding his arms.

The glare off the road was hurting Zeke's eyes despite his sunglasses. He really would have liked to tell Sasha a thing or two. Now was not the time, though, even if Casey most likely wouldn't hear it. He tried to spot Casey in the mirror – no good, he had moved back into the corner. All there was of him was that muffled racket. The atmosphere in the car was buzzing with things not being said and Zeke felt quite certain that this was the moment that he was going to lose Casey. He had asked Casey that morning what he wanted; he thought he had sounded sincere when he asked, so why did it have no effect? The equation was simple, there was no reason why Casey shouldn't understand it: Zeke asks for the data he is lacking, Casey gives it to him once and for all, and then they finally get fucking happy.

He thought he heard Casey's voice. He tossed a look in the mirror. "Case? Did you say something?"

It was a soft moan. "...now...I'm feeling nothing..."

Zeke was nearly horrified – and then he understood that it was the music, Casey was doing that thing he had been doing yesterday, mouthing along with the band and this time a few words here and there were rising to audibility, just for a second, giving Zeke tantalizing glimpses of what was going on inside the sensory barrier.

"Feeding... inside of me..."

Zeke waited for more. It was hard to focus on the road.

"Do you have to go so fast?" Sasha asked. The breeze through the car was almost as loud as the music had been. A sign whipped past:...Exit 110... to Badlands...Loop Road.

"That's the turn we want," Sasha said.

"I know," replied Zeke tightly.

"Your mind won't let you say that you want me," Casey's voice floated, clear and distinct.

Something in Zeke's chest went thud...thud....thud. Of course it was the music again, but Casey was talking to Zeke it seemed, having moved into the centre where Zeke could see him. His eyes were hollows sucking in all the light behind Zeke. "I feel your hunger –"

Sasha started to say something.

"Shut up!" Zeke hissed, and listened ferociously.

He had no idea if it was the real tune, if Casey could even carry a tune or if he was completely tone deaf. Not that it mattered. Casey was just grinding out words, singsong without it being actual singing, his voice tremulous but purposeful. "Your kind is just the type that should use me, but your mind won't seem to let you have the opportunity to abuse me... Your mind won't even let you feel."

Sasha was breathing fast beside Zeke.

"Your mind won't let you say that you're wondering... hungering. Won't let you say that you're questioning, wavering, weakening....listening, heeding me now... Won't let you say that you want–" Casey faltered. He fell silent and moved back into the corner.

"Good god," Sasha breathed.

For the thirty-some minutes between there and the next stopping place, the only sound was the incessant crashing and crunching of Casey's music in the distance. Sasha tried to speak once and Zeke shook his head slightly, warning him off. Finally there was an Exxon sign ahead of them, alongside several other familiar franchise symbols. Zeke pulled in to the gas station, driving up to one of the pumps and said to Sasha, "Fill ‘er up... and we need water. Lots of it." He twisted in his seat to look into the back. He had been sneaking the occasional glance in the mirror but there had been no sightings of the apparition in the back seat. "Get out, Casey."

Sasha made a sound.

"I mean, get out of the car, please." Zeke said to the glitter of Casey's eyes in their recessed corner. "We're going to talk..." He gestured. "There's a picnic table over there, under a tree. That's where we're going."

"No," Casey refused.

"You just had your say. The ball's in my court now, Case, and we're going to talk. I'll drag you out of this car if I have to."

Zeke waited.

At last Casey moved, sluggishly climbing out of the car, his limbs dragging like they were weighted down. Zeke pointed him to the spot he had picked. It was a patch of yellowed grass adjoining the gas station, off to the side, not secluded but apart enough to give them at least a notion of privacy. From that spot they could observe Sasha, who remained by the car filling the gas tank and looking very anxious.

Casey had perched himself on top of the picnic table.

"We're not going another mile," Zeke said, "Until I hear from you what's really bothering you."

Casey looked up at him, his mouth forming shapes without sound.

"It's a mystery to me," Zeke mused aloud, "why you seem so scared to lose me when you keep acting like you can't stand me." He paused, thought about strategy. "Just say something, Casey. Anything. I'll wait."

A gaping silence ensued.

"Casey," Zeke begged. "I'm asking you, okay? Give me something to go on."

He had despaired that he would get anything out of this when –

"You know," Casey muttered.

"I know what? What you're thinking? I'm not quite that smart, Casey." Zeke used the tail of his t-shirt to wipe his sweaty face and pushed back the thought that it was possible he might go mad if he didn't get some relief from this heat. "I see you being angry all the time... like when I nag you about taking care of yourself and I guess I can understand that. I know I can be controlling. There's more to it, though. What you were trying to tell me just now in the car... that it's about the sex, or lack thereof, I guess."

Casey shook his head. "No."

"It sure the hell sounded like it."

"It's – you – you told, you didn't ask."

"If it was okay for me to decide not to be your next abuser? Yeah, I decided. That is my right, Casey, whatever you might think. And, by the way? That stuff about how I'm the type to use you? That's fucking garbage."

"But you said."

"I said? Go on, tell me."

Casey stood up suddenly so he was standing on the bench of the picnic table, looking down at Zeke. "You made me believe you. You acted like... you wanted... you said ‘feel that, that's for you' and you made me feel it. Then you – you changed your mind, you got scared."

"I seem to remember asking you straight out if we could put all that on hold and you said yes! And I am not some stud animal who's supposed to get it up for you on demand! Did you ever think maybe I wanted more than a casual fuck?"

Casey gasped out, "It's not like that... not casual."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I just want to give you –"

"Don't." Zeke turned his back to Casey, not wanting to see him when he said what he was about to say. "You try to make this about me holding back... yeah, right, I won't say that I want you... You don't even want me."

He heard a noise of desperate denial.

Zeke whirled, saw that Casey was sitting again, hunched up. "No, you don't. If you did, maybe... just maybe while you were so busy trying to seduce me you would have gotten turned on a little. You think I don't notice that? You don't want me, you don't even want sex, Casey, but for some reason you think you should pretend –" He ran out of breath and his voice strangled itself.

By now Casey was holding himself tightly, squeezing his arms, pinching his flesh and Zeke knew he was probably going way too far. "I... just want to feel something..." Casey implored. "I need it, that's not a lie... not pretend. Why won't you do that for me... just once..."

Zeke closed his eyes and wished that he hadn't lost the ability to analyze his own choices. Common sense and logic had their parts down: If he were to accept Casey's invitations at face value, to treat him like an intact sexual being and let the passion do its thing, he would do Casey serious harm. But something else was crying out in protest, saying it was cruel to keep them both suspended in this moment of interruptus. It was saying maybe if he were to just let go and have sex with Casey it would be helpful in some weird way, like Casey could believe he had a chance at a healthy relationship, that he was actually suitable for someone other than Roy... Roy who taught him that sex could be used to hide himself...

"I can't do that to you," Zeke said.

Silence. Zeke knew that Casey wouldn't see the battle raging on inside him, wouldn't hear the back and forth of argument and desire. All Casey would hear was a cowardly shit saying, "I can't," and Casey might not be far wrong.

The Mustang was parked off to one side of the gas station lot; Sasha was leaning against the side of it, sucking back an enormous bottle of water. He was looking directly at them, perhaps trying to decide if he should get involved. Zeke knew he would butt in sooner or later – probably sooner. "We should move on," Zeke said tiredly, knowing it was another evasion.

Casey's head came up. "You got enough truth to keep you going then?" he snarled.

Zeke wondered... If he started to cry what would Casey do? Would he take pity on him? He said aloud, trying to sound unperturbed, "Let's go... we have a lot of miles to cover yet today."

 

"We should have a camera," Sasha exclaimed. He had been talking almost non- stop, rattling on in an effort to smother some of the tension. "Dammit, I should have thought... kitten, whatever happened to your camera?"

"Dunno," Casey replied dully.

Zeke gritted his teeth. Since leaving the gas station Casey had been teaching him that there was a whole other level of impossible. He made snarky comments when the opportunity presented itself, but otherwise refused to participate in the conversation other than to deliver sullen, monosyllabic excerpts from the vocabulary of a child of four. He was emanating a rage that made it difficult to breathe.

It didn't help that the temperature in the car was dangerously high and they were all stinking. Zeke couldn't believe he had agreed to this, but it was in the end only slightly out of the way. Things couldn't actually get much more uncomfortable than this. The landscape suited his mood, too. All along the Loop Road it was laid out, unfinished, broken, starkly fascinating. They descended into it from familiar ground and even knowing they would emerge from it, it was hard not to feel like they were in some alternate reality.

"This is wild," Sasha observed.

"Like another planet," Zeke agreed.

"I hear aliens like to visit here," Casey put in bitterly. "Maybe I'll see one."

"Oh, kitten," Sasha said, trying to placate him.

"No, don't even try, Sasha," snapped Zeke.

But there were still things that could go wrong. The car hadn't broken down. Zeke supposed he should have expected it. Right about the same moment he noticed the white vapour seeping from under the hood, the engine began huffing and sputtering.

"Oh, shit," Sasha muttered.

They stumbled to a stop; Zeke was able to get it onto the shoulder before the final gasp. Zeke turned off the ignition, yanked off his shades, and just laid himself down on the steering wheel. His skin was crawling. He closed his eyes and sought some untapped reservoir of cool.

"I think we've overheated," Sasha said.

"You think?"

"If it's just overheated we might be able to go on in a bit if we let the engine cool down... pour some water in the radiator."

Zeke turned his head to stare at Sasha.

"That's assuming we've just overheated," Sasha went on, acting oblivious. "If it's something more serious..."

"Let's have a look," Zeke sighed. "Casey, stay put."

The hood was too hot to touch; Zeke had to peel off his filthy shirt and use it to get the hood up. The vapour was indeed emanating from the radiator but beyond that Zeke couldn't tell what he was looking at. Sasha peered more closely at everything, futilely smearing the sweat pearled on his forehead.

"Do you actually know what you're doing?" Zeke inquired.

"I'll have you know that my father is a mechanic, so I picked up stuff about cars whether I wanted to or not. I take it you don't?"

"No, actually," Zeke admitted. "I've never gotten around to the fine details of automobile engines."

"So there's something Zeke Tyler doesn't know? All right, well... I think you've lost your radiator hose."

"Lost my hose?"

"Yeah. You see here, there's a tear."

"So that means..."

"You can pour gallon after gallon of water in there and you won't get anywhere."

"Right." Zeke turned and peered out at the striated rocks around him. They actually seemed to be changing colour. "I'm buying a new car tomorrow," Zeke threatened, only half kidding.

He glanced up and down a highway that was dotted with heat shimmers. He didn't see a vehicle but there would have to be someone along soon; it was the tourist season and they were far from being the only people out here. "I'm going to have to flag someone down, get a ride back to that gas station we passed. It can't be very far... ten miles maybe."

Inside the car had to be hotter than outside the car. There weren't any other options, though, if they wanted shelter. Zeke chugged half a bottle of water and twisted to address Casey. "I'm going to have to hitch a ride, get some help. Casey, you and Sasha stay here."

Casey sat forward. "What if I want to go with you?" he challenged.

Zeke rubbed his head. His hair was damp with sweat. "Just stay here, please. I'm sure it won't be long."

He got out, his entire body begging him to get to cover. He started to walk away, to take a position at the side of the highway. He heard gravel crunch as Casey caught up to him. "Maybe I'm going to hitch to the gas station too," Casey said.

Zeke came close to losing it, but looking at Casey he managed to retain sufficient pity to hold his tongue one more time. Casey looked twice as bad as Zeke felt, and probably wasn't up to rational thought right now. "Casey, go back to the car. You'll fry out here."

"No."

"Do it, would you – just – just – do it!" Zeke heard his own voice shudder, shot through with frustrated anger. He saw with relief that Sasha was approaching and hoped devoutly that Sasha had it in him to just toss Casey over his shoulder.

"You don't own me," Casey said in a low voice.

Zeke didn't think he had heard what he heard. "What did you say?"

"You don't own me. You're not my nurse and you don't own me." Casey was standing with arms tight at his side, completely rigid.

"I think I knew that, Casey," Zeke replied, not minding that he came off completely condescending. "Now go back to the car."

"No, I want –"

"I don't care what you want!" Zeke exploded. "First you can't stand to talk to me then you're clinging to my side! How's it going to be, Casey? Huh? How do you want it?"

Something shattered, like it had to.

Zeke knew he had been expecting something, but he was still overwhelmed by the violence of it as Casey began screaming and pounding the sides of his own legs with his fists. "You don't own me! You don't own me, you don't – you don't –!"

Sasha tried to put his arms around Casey. "Kitten, c'mon –"

"No!" Casey tore away from Sasha; intent on getting away from them both he struck out over the multi-toned desert, apparently not caring if he walked right into a pit in the earth. "Don't touch me! Leave me alone!"

Zeke followed him a few steps and stopped. "I can't do this right now!" he yelled. Casey stopped walking but didn't turn around. He stood facing oblivion with his back to Zeke. "Why did you do it?" he demanded.

"Do what? Casey, so help me I'm –"

"Why did you do it!?"

"Do what?!" Zeke bellowed. "Make some sense, will you?"

"You – you took – you took it – everything –"

"We've been through this!" Zeke noted that he was waving his arms. That was ludicrous, and it was also ludicrous to be yelling at the back of Casey's head but he was doing it, sick with anger. "I did not take it, and if I did I'm more than happy to give it back so I don't know what the fuck you're talking about –"

Casey spun around to confront him, shrieking, "You told him there were no aliens!"

Zeke was stunned, startled and thoroughly silenced.

"You – you – told him you made them up... " Just as suddenly as he had begun screaming, Casey turned to sobbing. "... you made me up... I'm nothing... just this thing you made up... I'm... nothing –"

Zeke struggled to find two wits to rub together.

"Why... did you... do it?" Casey got out, not doing very well with crying, talking and breathing all at the same time.

"Casey." Zeke took a step towards him and froze when Casey seemed poised to flee from him. "Don't – don't run, Casey, please. I'm so... fucking sorry... I really didn't think he was going to tell you that."

"He had to tell me," Casey sobbed, "because he needed me to know and he had to prove it so I'm nothing –"

"Stop saying that, please, I was only –" Zeke sucked on the scalded air. "– I only wanted to protect you, I was afraid they would lock you up because no one ever believed us about the aliens, you know that. I needed an explanation. He just wasn't supposed to tell you."

"I – wasn't supposed to – to know?"

"I was going to tell you after we were gone from that place and after you were better. When you could handle it."

"That's not your right...." Casey moaned.

At that point Zeke knew there was nothing he could say to placate Casey – because he did have the right. Casey had been in danger and he needed to do something. He wasn't going to regret that. Because Casey had placed himself in his care. He held out his hand. "Case... come back here, please."

"No!"

"We're both getting cooked to death out here. I need – I need you to stay in the car. We'll discuss this later, I promise you... I need you to just do this for me now."

Far gone from paying attention to anything that Zeke needed, Casey sat down on the rocks and exuded nothing less than a complete intent to shrivel to nothing. Zeke's eyes and brain were boiling in his skull. Not having the luxury of time to engage in a long campaign of soothing and persuading, he stomped the few steps between them and laid hands on Casey, who curled instantly into a Zeke-resistant ball. "Don't touch me!"

Zeke yanked and pulled the smaller body upright, using all the force that was necessary. "I'm sorry, I'm –"

"No...no, no..." Casey cried. He was turning himself inside out, trying to wriggle out of Zeke's grasp. He mashed his hands in Zeke's face, pushing Zeke's head back with all his strength, and when that got him nowhere he began swinging. His fists struck Zeke in the face and the neck. The slap of flesh against flesh was buried under Casey's frenzied chorus of "no, no..."

There was only one usable word left...enough.

Zeke got hold of one of Casey's wrists and pinned it to his side, then contained the other by wrapping his arm around Casey, over his shoulder and across his chest. He lifted Casey's body off the ground slightly and hauled him towards the car with his feet just scrabbling the ground but getting no purchase, all the way back to Sasha who was standing there viewing the horror with an open mouth. Zeke tried to devise a way to stuff Casey into the car.

Sasha touched Zeke's shoulder. "Give him to me," he instructed quietly. His tone held absolute authority.

Zeke let go of Casey who collapsed into Sasha's arms and resumed his sobbing with fresh intensity. Sasha just sat down in the front seat of the car holding Casey, speaking comforting nonsense, rocking him. Zeke staggered around to the other side and got in himself, needing a few moments respite from the murderous brightness that was pounding down on him. With his back to the scene taking place on the other side of the car, he grabbed another bottle of water and emptied it.

A couple of vehicles drove past while they sat there and Zeke listened to Casey's hysterical crying. It gradually eased to a sniffling quiet as he wore himself out. Zeke twisted, looked over his shoulder and saw that Sasha was still rocking slightly. He had covered Casey's head completely with his arms and the bottom half of his shirt.

Zeke turned back to watch the road. He saw what appeared to be another, relatively large vehicle just over the nearest bump in the horizon. As it grew closer, he saw that it was a motorhome. He got up and put himself in the middle of the road, waving his arms. He was quite prepared to fling himself under the wheels if necessary.

It wasn't, though; the vehicle pulled over onto the shoulder, parking behind the Mustang. It had Texas plates. Zeke saw a man and woman up front; the man said something to the woman, no doubt his wife, and exited the vehicle alone. "Howdy," he said with a powerful twang. "Y'all havin' some car trouble?"

"Overheated," Zeke replied.

"Have you tried letting it cool down, pour some water –"

"Yeah, we tried all that. It looks like the radiator is shot. Listen, I wouldn't ask this if it weren't urgent. Can you give my friends and me a ride back to the gas station?"

"I have a cell phone, maybe we could call for a tow."

"I... appreciate that. But – er, my friend is very sick. I don't want him to be out here any longer than he has to, and I'm feeling a bit overheated myself."

The Texan looked suspicious, perhaps justifiably. Zeke noted that there were now two children along with the woman pressed in the front window.

"I understand why you might feel hesitant," Zeke added. "But this really is as it seems."

"All right, I guess. Go get your friends, then."

Zeke hurried back to the Mustang, where Sasha still sat with Casey under his arm. "They'll give us a ride," he said. "Come on."

"Thank Christ," Sasha said in reply. He shifted, trying to get on his feet. Zeke helped to steady him, not touching Casey who stood up unresisting – and of course he didn't resist, because Zeke couldn't have done a better job of breaking him if that had been his actual intention.

Oh, and that wasn't your intention, then, Zekie boy?

"You need to bring our bags," Sasha reminded Zeke in the same, collected tones he had been using.

"Right," Zeke said immediately. Clearly, his brain was not working well.

They went to the door in the side of the motorhome, sitting open now, offering welcome. The children, female and male aged about six and ten, were standing by looking excited at the idea of rescuing three complete strangers. Their mother, however, did not appear at all thrilled by it.

"Hi," Zeke said, as winningly as possible given he was raining sweat and there was a metal spike slowly working its way through his left eye into his frontal lobe. "I'm Zeke. Thank you for doing this. This is Sasha... and Casey."

"Yes," Sasha echoed in his most cultured voice. "You have our eternal gratitude, ma'am."

At this the woman looked somewhat appeased. Her eyes were all over Casey, though... Casey, who was tucked in against Sasha's side, looking unquestionably tragic.

"Mom," whispered the little girl. "What's wrong with that boy?"

"Shh, Lydia," snapped the mother. "I'm sorry about that. Y'all can use the bed in the back if you like... to lay down."

"Thank you," Sasha replied, heartfelt. He guided Casey back there, followed by the children's eyes. Zeke remained up front, sitting in one of the small swivel armchairs, soaking up the air conditioning. It didn't take very long for him to begin to feel chilled, though. His heart was racing a little.

It was a short trip back to that gas station. It was part of the tiny community they had passed some time ago, barely more than a row of buildings dropped into the middle of the desert, but obviously a launch pad to many of the recreational activities the park had to offer. There were signs everywhere pronouncing the entrance to "The Interior" and other points of interest. For accommodation there was the Cedar Pass Lodge, which appeared to be a step up from the budget motels they had been frequenting.

The gas station consisted of a small garage with a single gas pump and a couple of vehicles parked out front with "For Sale" signs. "Thank you," Zeke said thickly to their benefactors as they came to a stop there. "Can I – can I reimburse you for gas?"

"Not necessary," replied the Texan. "Glad to help."

Zeke was out of the motorhome first, turning to see how Casey fared. Casey had stepped down readily, wobbling slightly from lack of attention to where his feet were; Sasha grasped his arm quickly. Inadvertently Casey's eyes met Zeke's and glanced off of him as if two people could hold opposing magnetic charges.

"You look green," Sasha observed Zeke as the motorhome drove away.

"Sick," Zeke replied shortly, swallowing bile. "Too much sun."

A man whom Zeke presumed to be the garage owner approached them, a short, somewhat spare fellow with a moustache and a mouthful of gum. "Hey there."

"Hey," Zeke returned. "We broke down..." His voice wavered just the tiniest bit "...about twelve miles up the road."

Sasha told Zeke, "I'm going to go check us into the lodge. I'll let them know you'll be coming."

Zeke nodded. They would not be going anywhere for a while.

 

He rode all the way back to get the car in the mechanic's tow truck. Fred, the mechanic's name was, and he was a jovial man, eager to talk. He nattered all the way back to the Mustang's resting place, mostly about his quest for the perfect anniversary gift for his girlfriend; on the way back into town he switched to the topic of Zeke's life history and aspirations. Even if Zeke hadn't been feeling increasingly unwell he would have been disinclined to answer. He was preoccupied with the instant replay, trying to believe that those things his brain remembered had really happened --

"So... you're starting college," Fred was saying. "Whatcha going to take?"

"Philosophy."

– because he had not betrayed Casey... he was only trying to help. If Casey were in a bit saner frame of mind and not needing an outlet for two whole years worth of anger, he might understand that Zeke had only been doing what he thought was right --

"Oh, philosophy – neat, man! I have a cousin who took this course by correspondence that was about philosophy. ‘From Plato to Castenada' I think it was called. You ever read Castenada? Anyway, my cousin's been working on his diploma by correspondence for about ten years I bet–"

– and that fucking Spadoni. There was Zeke's real mistake, believing a word that little shit said –

"– your friends? They going to college too?"

Zeke fought back a wave of nausea and replied, "Not right now."

Yeah, he should have realized Spadoni wouldn't be able to resist telling Casey what Zeke had said. Spadoni had to make his point about Zeke having too much power and of course he would use the information on hand, wouldn't he? How could Zeke have been so stupid?

"So who won?"

"Huh?"

"Well, if you don't mind me saying, you look like you fought a war. Who won?"

That brutal sun had really fucked him over; tears came up into his eyes. "No one," Zeke replied curtly.

"Beautiful car," Fred said, of the Mustang. "That's a classic. Mint."

"A classic heap," Zeke growled. "I'll sell it to you."

Fred looked doubtful. "Say what?"

"You had a couple of cars for sale at your shop. I'll trade this for one of them...there was a Pathfinder...'98 or ‘99, right? Looked in good shape."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Pretty sure."

"Oh, you're just mad at the old girl right now." Fred glanced fondly in his rearview mirror, at the car trundling along behind them. "Tell you what... you think about it and if you're still interested tomorrow, we'll talk."

"Fine," Zeke agreed.

Then he had to ask Fred to stop so he could throw up at the side of the road.

"Heat exhaustion," Fred diagnosed when he dragged his ass back into the truck. "You wouldn't believe how often it happens... seems like they're pulling some hiker out of here on a stretcher every other day. You just can't underestimate these hills, you know? I think they have it in for people." He examined Zeke sideways. "Make sure you drink lots of water and get a good sleep... you should be fine."'

"Thanks," Zeke rasped.

"I've had my share," Fred shrugged. "Learned my lesson now. Once when I was a kid I got burned so bad, the skin on my shoulders was purple... Anyway," he finished, perhaps noticing that Zeke wasn't in the mood to listen to a childhood anecdote. "We'll be there soon. I'll drop you at the lodge."

Where, no doubt, Casey was airing the latest episode of I'm-Not-Here-You-Can't-Find-Me. It was a convenient way to avoid further discussion of unpleasant topics.

"You look really bummed, Zeke. That argument must have been a doozy, huh?" Fred spit his gum out the window. "Don't sweat it... my girlfriend and I have had some rip-roaring battles over the years. We always get along great after... if you know what I mean." Fred offered Zeke a wink.

Zeke was ready to fall over when he got to the lodge, and there was still the business about finding out which room and getting a key. He also discovered that Sasha – the sneak – already had paid for the room. Zeke dragged his feet walking to their door, not knowing what his reception would be. From either of them.

He needn't have worried. They were both asleep, both looking freshly showered, skin dewy and hair damp, wearing clean, sweat-free clothes. But Casey appeared inconsolable even in sleep, like the emotional violence had continued in Zeke's absence; he was curled and sprawled on Sasha like he had just fallen unconscious in the midst of a fit. Sasha was propped uncomfortably against a pillow and the headboard, his arms draped protectively around Casey. At Zeke's entrance his eyes opened sleepily for a few seconds, and closed without comment.

Zeke dropped onto the other bed. He hated his own stink but he simply couldn't manage a shower, not now. He was instantly asleep.

He dreamed that they were fleeing from a lot of men in dark suits. It had something to do with them telling something they were not supposed to tell and they were being chased over the Badlands. Zeke knew that they wanted Casey for some terrible purpose... experiments of an unspeakable nature. Zeke knew if they could just get to a certain spot where the mechanic was waiting with his truck, they would be okay. They ran towards a cliff, helpless to turn because of the swarm of men behind them. They were trapped – but Casey jumped. Zeke screamed, certain he was dead, and jumped after him. Then suddenly they were safe below and Zeke said to Casey, "I thought you were dead" and Casey said, "But I flew" and Zeke was about to kiss him when he saw a row of black jeeps coming towards them and they had to run again –

He woke with his heart in his throat and a titanium hard-on. His clothes felt crusted onto his skin. Disgusted by himself, he took a shower and felt a hundred times better. He drank the remains of one of their bottles of water that he hadn't noticed sitting the dresser the night before, and fell back into his bed.

Then it was full daylight, mid-morning according to his watch, and he felt almost normal. The skin on his face was tender and sore but otherwise there were no lasting effects of the previous day's exposure. He rolled over and saw Sasha standing up, rummaging in his suitcase.

"Hey," Zeke said tentatively.

"Hey." Sasha folded his arms and looked at him. Very neutral, Sasha said, "You're feeling better?"

"Yes." Zeke cleared his throat. "Casey's in the shower?"

"Yes."

"Again?"

Sasha raised his brows and shrugged. "I guess he needed some alone time."

"How – how is he?"

"Ask him yourself," Sasha replied shortly.

"Are you pissed at me too, then?"

All at once Sasha released his forbidding pose and sighed. "I'm not pissed at you," he said. "Not really."

"That's a great comfort."

"I'm not the one who cares about the fucking aliens. I don't give a damn whether or not they're real. But Casey does and I had to spend an hour last night listening to him cry about it. I don't get the alien thing – but I do understand why he's upset."

"Then maybe you can explain it to me," Zeke said miserably. "Everyone in that town thinks he's nuts for no good reason... I only wanted to take that out of the equation."

"But you robbed him of a huge chunk of his identity, Zeke, when he really needed it. He's Herrington's resident alien and you made him... just the town freak."

Zeke groaned, flopping on his back. "I never intended --"

"But that's what happened." Sasha pulled out a shirt that was far more wrinkled than anything he would normally be seen in. Shrugging it on, he said, more mildly, "I'm hungry and I'm cranky."

"Go get something to eat," Zeke suggested, frowning at the ceiling.

"Not right now."

"Sasha..."

"I'm not leaving until he tells me it's okay, and last time I checked, it was not okay."

Zeke muttered, "You know, believe it or not, there are some things between Casey and me that aren't your business."

"Wrong, Zeke. Everything about Casey is my business. I don't go in for that privacy crap anymore – it's just a way of covering up so people can get hurt."

The shower was turned off and the room suddenly got very quiet. Zeke jumped up and began to pace, but there wasn't anything he could say.

"You want to earn points?" Sasha said. "Go get us all something to eat. Please." He crossed the space between them as he spoke and put his hand compassionately on Zeke's shoulder. Zeke was caught between wanting to smack the hand away and curling into his arms to weep.

In a moment the bathroom door opened and Casey came out. He stopped upon seeing Zeke, growing very still. He was fully clothed, his hair wet all over again, hanging in his face. He seemed smaller than he had been yesterday, yet Zeke was afraid of him.

"I'll go get us a bite," Zeke volunteered, speaking to Sasha, averting his own gaze. He found that he had absolutely no clue what Casey was going to say or do but his guess was that Casey would be relieved to have him out of his space right now.

"I'll take a burger and fries," Sasha promptly requested. Zeke looked at him in surprise. "It's been that kind of week," he said with a shrug.

Zeke didn't look at Casey as he asked him, "Do you want anything?"

"Where are you going?" came Casey's voice, disregarding the question entirely.

It happened before he could stop it; Zeke looked at Casey and got caught by his eyes. They didn't look blaming or accusing or angry – just sorrowful. Zeke's voice jammed up for a second. Clearing his throat, he answered, "I'm going to get –"

"No."

Zeke blinked.

"No," repeated Casey. He angled his next words to Sasha. "I want – I want to talk to him." He sounded plaintive, like he was asking permission.

"Okay," Sasha said breathlessly. "Okay, kitten. I'm going to step out for a bit. I expect you to meet me in the restaurant – in exactly one hour," he stressed.

He shot a single look at Zeke as he departed, a look that basically said everything.

 

Zeke was watching Casey like he did sometimes, watching him hard. Casey had become accustomed to it, addicted to it even. It was a comfort to know that he had Zeke's attention. Zeke would sometimes stare so much that he forgot to notice that there was someone who might look back at him. This time, though, Zeke was probably looking for some sign that Casey was going to behave like a sane, grown-up person. Sane grown- ups generally didn't cause scenes like the one Zeke had been subjected to yesterday, but if they did you could be sure they would try to make amends – and Casey really did want to make amends. He wanted to understand what Zeke had done, because you could be sure there was a very sound reason for it. Zeke had a sound reason for most things he did. Once Casey had heard the reason and accepted it, there would be nothing left for him to do but to spring Zeke from his trap.

Waking up this morning, Casey knew he had a purpose. He would free two people who had never really done anything to deserve all this pain and difficulty –

"Case?" Zeke said.

– and Seattle would be wonderful for Zeke once he was free of Casey. He would be brilliant at philosophy, probably write books about it, and he would put this whole sordid part of his life behind him and maybe write a book about that too. He wouldn't have to be gay, he wouldn't have to carry another person financially or emotionally, he would find some woman who could listen and understand his logic. Once in a while he would think about Casey with regret and pity, while Casey would be in Cincinnati, maybe, or someplace else altogether. Someplace quiet and still.

"Are you okay?" was what Zeke was saying.

And Sasha. He would be a great chef, one of the greatest in the country. He would be featured in magazines and maybe have his own TV show. He would find some man he could pour his heart into and make a difference to them –

"Casey.... you said you wanted to talk to me."

He had to focus, he had to pay attention and get them free of this...so he could go wherever it was he was meant to go.

"Tell me why," he said softly. He could do this, he could hold it together long enough to find out why Zeke had betrayed him. He would listen and then he would be ready to let go.

"Why did I tell Spadoni that there were no aliens?"

Casey nodded, moving away from the bathroom door. Zeke retreated from him, seating himself on the bed furthest from Casey. Zeke was probably thinking that Casey was going to erupt and attack him again. Casey wanted Zeke to know that it wouldn'thappen. It couldn't, because it didn't even seem like it had been Casey who had done it in the first place. He was in possession of these recorded images of himself, screaming and thrashing against the limbs that were all around him, trying to pin him down, but it was a cloudy bit of footage that he had watched from somewhere above his own shoulder. Yet it had to have been him, because his hands still held the sense memory of how it had felt when they impacted on the other's skin. It made Casey feel sick every time he thought about it.

"I told you yesterday... " Zeke said. "I was afraid they were going to use it as an excuse to lock you up." Zeke folded his arms, lifting his chin a little. "I... won't say I'm sorry for that, Casey. I can't. I'm sorry I had to do it, and that it hurt you, but that wasn't supposed to happen. I realize I made a mistake in not telling you right away. I didn't think you were in any shape to listen but I still should have told you."

Hearing this, Casey knew what his bitter drug had been. It was everything about Zeke that he didn't like, every thing that he didn't want Zeke to know that he felt. He would have given anything not to have Zeke know that he was this poisoned. But it was done now; he had overdosed yesterday. Today, he was drained and detoxified. Today, when he listened to Zeke he didn't feel the drug. He only felt the needle. It was stuck in a vital place. Casey didn't remember feeling anything this clean for a terribly long time and if this was what it would mean to be healthy... he so didn't want it.

He supposed he hadn't said anything for a while, for Zeke had stood up now and had walked over almost to where Casey was, and he was demanding, requiring Casey's comprehension. "You're still angry at me," Zeke went on. "But you've got to understand – you don't know what it was like having to see you like that and know that every single doctor and nurse was fitting you for a straightjacket, I was losing my mind, Casey! It was easy for you, you got to just be catatonic. I had to deal!"

"Stop talking," Casey said.

"What?"

"Stop talking... please."

Zeke gaped at him. "Okay."

"You talk and... everything you say makes me feel so much, I can't – I can't think."

"I've stopped," Zeke protested.

Now he was supposed to say something. Problem was, his mind was still a blank. He couldn't remember what he had intended when he told Zeke to be quiet. All he had to work with was the gist of Zeke's speech, which was that Zeke had been having a difficult time lately.

"I'm sorry," Casey whispered.

"No," Zeke refused him. "I don't want to hear sorry."

Casey looked at the floor. Zeke wanted to argue and debate and get everything on the table and hash it out... Casey understood this, but he wasn't Zeke, he wasn't strong or brave enough to do that. "But...I am sorry... I'm too much work."

He held his whole body stiff, trying to brace for whatever words would come

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Zeke said, sounding utterly done. "Can I – do we have to do this with you standing in the corner? Can I hold you, please?"

Lifting his head, Casey said wonderingly, "You – want to –?"

Zeke was rolling his eyes and smiling ruefully. "Yes, I want to, you..."

Casey approached slowly, thinking that it was possible that Zeke had grown to like his cage and didn't want to be emancipated just yet. That sort of thing happened – but it didn't mean that Casey wasn't obligated to let him go. He was just too weak to do it – today. He moved cautiously into the circle of Zeke's arms.

"...impossible...unreal... person," Zeke finished, his chest heaving against Casey. "Yeah, you're work, Casey, but it's good work. I may get bothered and impatient and I may shout but I am not about to give up. Zeke Tyler does not give up. Get that through your head now. You can yell and scream and throw things at me to your heart's content... I probably deserve it. But I'm not going anywhere."

"But you... you do so much for me... you and Sasha..."

"I have no intention of stopping and neither does Sasha, I'm sure."

"I've been so terrible."

"It's allowed, Casey."

"But...it's too much, you and Sasha need to get away from me –"

Zeke put a hand over Casey's mouth, just firm enough to stop him talking. "You really have to do something about that playback you've got going on in there," he said quietly. His little finger moved against Casey's jaw, slowly massaging.

Zeke took his hand away, but not his eyes. He kept looking. He didn't stop looking and it was not his typical kind of Casey-watching. This was something different that made Casey's heart thrum and his skin ripple with nerves. Casey tried to look away and Zeke grasped his chin gently and turned it back in his direction.

"What..." Casey whispered.

"Do you feel this, Casey?" Zeke murmured. He was still touching only Casey's face, still looking.

There was some motion; Zeke's hand took Casey's hand and made it lie against Zeke's face. When he tried to remove it, Zeke's grip tightened slightly, just enough to let him know he wanted it to stay there. So he obeyed and had his hand against the side of Zeke's face, his arm and his body stiff with terror.

"And this, do you feel this?" Zeke said. "It is something, isn't it?"

Casey took a shaky step backwards, out of Zeke's reach, and met the wall.

"I see you, Casey," Zeke said, his voice smooth. "I don't want you to hide from me."

"I..."

"There is something I want," Zeke continued, his dark gaze caressing Casey.

"Wha – what?" Casey asked with a throat too dry for more than that. His face was scorched by Zeke's eyes.

"Can we sleep in the same bed – just sleep?"

Rocking against the wall a bit, Casey muttered, "Okay."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Zeke asked.

Zeke sounded so patient, waiting for Casey to sort it out – but Casey just didn't know the answer. He didn't know if he could sleep with Zeke when Zeke was seeing him that way, he didn't want to be seen, yet he wanted to be near Zeke although it wouldn't be any easier if he was going to be letting Zeke go and he should really turn down Zeke's offer... but he was so weak.

"Well," Zeke said. "Why don't you think about it and tell me what you want to do later? The offer will stay open." Moving away from Casey suddenly, Zeke announced a change of subject. "You know, I think we've been in this room long enough." He held out his hand. "Come on."

The light of day was unbelievably harsh. It hurt. Casey looked for the Mustang with its lovely, dark alcove in the back, remembered that it had broken down. "Where's the car?" he asked Zeke.

"Getting repaired," Zeke replied. "Actually, it's probably done by now, we could head over to the garage and see. It's only a few blocks." Still holding Casey's hand, Zeke gave him a gentle tug. He began walking, a bit unwillingly. "I was thinking of trading it for something newer, for the rest of our drive," Zeke mused. "Something with air conditioning."

Casey saw that Zeke wasn't kidding; a shiver of nerves went through him. "Why?" he needed to know.

"It's just been such a fucking nuisance. We could use a bit more space too."

"Don't," Casey blurted. He wasn't sure why the thought of Zeke without his Mustang was so frightening, but it was. Zeke with some brand new plastic car without personality, without originality...

Zeke had stopped walking. "Don't?"

"Don't get rid of it!"

"Casey," Zeke said tolerantly, looking at Casey like he had the reason for Casey's agitation all figured out. "It's just a car. I can let go of a car. And I'll probably sell it when we get to Seattle anyway. I don't need it."

"I...like that car," Casey protested, his heart hammering wildly.

"Really?" Zeke said, seeming surprised. "I honestly didn't think it would matter to you, but – okay, I won't get rid of it. You're the one who's been stuffed in the back seat anyway. You really don't mind?"

Casey shook his head.

"Okay," Zeke said and squeezed his hand a little.

Not talking, they headed to the garage at a slow amble.

"Would you... " Zeke said all of sudden. "I just was thinking... Case, do you want to learn how to drive?" He watched Casey with plain eagerness on his sunburned face. "It's a good time to learn."

Casey felt like he was spinning, unable to find his focal point. "Sure," he got out. He let Zeke pull him along, squinting into the light. Strangers passed them, just a few who looked like they were on vacation. They smiled and said hello as they drifted by. Casey was glad that Zeke was holding his hand, that Zeke didn't seem to mind that Casey just didn't know how to let go.

 

Both Sasha and Zeke had performed their morning rites, and Casey was still asleep, lying in a boneless sprawl.

"I think I wore him out," Zeke remarked.

Sasha raised his eyebrows and didn't go with the obvious opening. "How did the driving lesson go?"

"Fine," Zeke grinned.

It had been a good night. They had gone to retrieve the Mustang and Fred had recommended a hard-packed, dusty expanse just behind his garage, citing it as the place his dad had taught him to drive. They then found Sasha at the nearby diner, and the three of them had supper there together. After, Sasha disappeared, and Casey had his first driving lesson. He had been jittery for a while, but he quickly learned that a slight failure in performance would not lead to his, Zeke's, or the Mustang's destruction, and he relaxed. By the time they were done he was able to start and stop smoothly and to steer without over or undercompensating. He seemed to be enjoying himself even. He was amused when Zeke sat on his hands to keep himself from reflexively grabbing the wheel. And when Zeke stomped down on an invisible brake pedal on the passenger side, he laughed out loud.

Casey had passed out in Zeke's bed immediately upon returning to their room. So Zeke assumed that his invitation had been accepted, which was a relief. He figured it was just as well that they would have a reprieve that night from fully digesting the implications of sleeping in close proximity. The day had already been replete with discussion and meaning-filled moments; Zeke was quite ready to sleep on it. He had propped himself up beside him and watched the tube for a while until his eyes grew heavy. He had been waiting up for Sasha, but Sasha had still not returned when he finally dropped off to sleep some time after 1:30.

"Where were you last night, then?" Zeke asked Sasha now.

Sasha grinned slyly. "I'll never tell."

"I don't think I believe that."

"Busted! You see, yesterday afternoon before you two showed up I met this lovely young man in the lobby. He just got back from a hiking expedition in Thailand actually..." Sasha trailed off, regarding Casey. "Should we wake him up?"

"Nah... let him sleep a bit longer."

"I didn't get to hear the upshot of the big discussion – other than the changed sleeping arrangements, and might I say it was just a little chilly all by myself last night. Did you get the air cleared, then?"

"Fuck if I know," Zeke answered.

He didn't delude himself for a moment that everything was good now. It was only that it was better. At least Casey didn't seem to be quite so angry at him anymore.

At breakfast, while Casey nibbled on a muffin and paid scant attention to Sasha hyping the adventures of his new boyfriend, Zeke came to the conclusion that, suddenly, his attention seemed to make Casey very jumpy. And this after a few months of soaking up Zeke's obsessive intensity and brazenly propositioning Zeke to do very rude things with body parts that people didn't usually discuss freely in their daily conversation. It seemed that a calloused layer of feeling had been scrubbed away, leaving a rawness that could barely look Zeke in the eye.

"So, Zeke," Sasha said, pausing in his song of praise to Brad the Hiker. "Did you know what's on that highway that we're going to pass right by today?"

Distracted from his perusal of Casey, Zeke replied, "You know, I'd really like to make it to Seattle for this term."

"It's barely out of the way at all. I should have thought of it, but anyway Brad reminded me. Devil's Tower."

"So?" Zeke said. He noticed that Casey had perked up a bit. "Doesn't ring a bell."

"Ever see ‘Close Encounters'?"

"The movie?"

Sasha made a face. "No, the video game. Yeah, the movie!"

"I think I might have rented it at some point..."

Sasha appealed to Casey to relieve Zeke of his ignorance.

"It's where the aliens landed," Casey supplied readily enough. He was shredding his muffin as he spoke. "In the movie... all these people are drawn there... they climb this mountain..."

"Alien invasion?"

Sasha interjected scornfully, "I don't think you watched the movie, Zeke. No, they were invited. We invited them, put out a landing strip for them even. I love that scene." He turned a full-beam smile on Casey. "It's a national monument," he added.

"Why... because aliens came there?"

"No," Sasha groaned. "That was just in the movie. It was a national monument before Spielberg ever got to it."

"Did he leave the landing strip behind?"

"I'm gonna hit you."

Zeke relented. "Okay, I give... we stop at Devil's Tower." They would still be only a day late. Zeke made a mental note to call Stokely later, and to nag Casey to phone his parents.

They filled up on gas in Rapid City, where Sasha had the inspiration to stop at a grocery store and buy the makings of lunch. They then lit out over the broad stretches of desert plain, making excellent time in the absence of a real speed limit. They had reached Devil's Tower National Park by noon. It was an odd but ultimately recognizable jutting formation that loomed up suddenly as they wound through a series of hills. Apparently there was a short, paved trail that circled the base of the tower; Sasha didn't ask if they could walk it, obviously not wanting to push his luck. So they simply parked in the picnic area lying in the tower's shadow and absorbed the sight of it while they ate lunch.

"See all those spots of colour up there?" Sasha held forth, waving his sandwich in the direction of the tower. "Those are little men dangling from the rocks." Casey giggled and Sasha, very pleased with himself, added, "People come from all over the world to climb this thing."

"Has Brad climbed it, then?" Casey asked, just a little sly.

Without missing a beat Sasha answered, "Nope, he's more of a feet on the ground type of guy."

"Feet on the ground," Casey mused. "Don't know much about that."

Zeke made a point of not staring or fainting even though this was the first time in his recent memory that Casey had been gratuitously playful.

"Well, kitten, some people are feet-on-the-ground types and others... head-in-the-clouds all the time. Usually I prefer the head-in-the-cloud variety but I've been known to dally a bit. What about you, Zeke? What's your preference?"

"Head-in-the-clouds," Zeke stated. "Any day of the week." He had his eyes fixed on the rock in front of him and didn't deviate from that view. "Spielberg's aliens were friendly, weren't they?" he mused.

"Absolutely," Sasha answered.

But Casey said, "We don't know. They seem like they are. They have those big, glowing eyes. They seem like children... but we don't know what happens to Richard Dreyfus after he goes with them."

"Something beautiful," Sasha said firmly.

"You don't know, though," Casey insisted. A tremor worked its way into his voice. "Just because they look friendly doesn't mean they are."

It got quiet.

"I think," Sasha said then, "that the whole point of the film was to overcome the fear that we have of things that are unknown and strange. The payoff is the joy at the end when those ships come down with all that gorgeous light. At least that's how I see it."

Zeke thought that if Sasha had ever met an alien anywhere outside of the movies, he might just reconsider his interpretation.

Suddenly, Casey blurted out, "It did happen, didn't it?"

"What – did what happen?" Sasha asked, puzzled.

Casey addressed Zeke, blatantly not caring that Sasha was present and listening, nor that strangers might overhear them. "With – the aliens? Was it real?"

For the first time Zeke was pummelled by shame for his lie. It had never occurred to him that he had caused such a doubt to begin and fester, but now suddenly he could imagine Casey in Spadoni's office, barely knowing where he was or who he was, being told that his defining moment had never happened.

"Casey," Zeke replied carefully. "Of course it happened. How can you even question it – all the things you saw... that we saw? You're a fucking hero."

"I don't feel much like a hero," Casey returned, his mouth trembling.

"Well, you are," Zeke confirmed without hesitation.

Casey folded his arms around himself, shivering. He couldn't have been cold, in this heat. "I'm... so scared of everything."

"Most heros are," Sasha remarked. "From what I hear."


	9. Chapter 9

Entering the city of Seattle was like plunging full into chaos, sealed inside a car-shaped capsule with Zeke and Sasha at the helm. In the last hour the lights of the city had grown from an incipient glow on the horizon, gradually swelled to a haze in the night sky and then finally shaped a bright dome all around them – at which time Zeke had pulled out a folded sheet of paper with street names and directions scribbled down on it, and handed it to Sasha. The two of them began to confer in quiet tones.

"There... that's the exit."

"I know."

"Now we want Jarvis Street."

"Can you watch for it... shit, my eyes are falling out of my head."

And a little while later:

"There's Jarvis."

"Turn right or left?"

"Left. Now watch out for Langley – and you should probably be in the right lane here – "

Casey didn't recall feeling so overwhelmed when he first got to Cincinnati. That had been a little intimidating, but he had been to Cincinnati quite a few times before he went to school there. This felt like a descent into the abyss. Streets laid out in patterns that he couldn't see, peopled by thousands of complete strangers with all their layers of distorted intentions, and the brains and the limbs to carry them out.

He didn't know exactly when that thought had become so worrying to him. Memory supplied an earlier time when strangers hadn't been so strange. Then, he hadn't exactly been fond of them but at least he understood that they were merely people he didn't know. These days, though, he had to contend with a certain truth that had made itself known to him: It didn't matter if you knew them or not because the people you knew were usually the ones inflicting the majority of the hurting anyway. Get to know more people, Casey didn't make much sense then, did it? They would just be more people that he would stupidly insist on clinging to despite what they might do to him.

"I'm beat," Zeke said wearily to his passengers. It was nearly eleven o'clock, the end of twelve hours of driving and Sasha wasn't much better off than Zeke. For the hundred miles or so approaching Seattle, Sasha had dozed on and off with his head against the window frame, making sleep noises. "Can't wait to crash," Zeke added.

You couldn't tell, but Zeke had to be chafing over what had happened – was it only this morning? The morning after the first night that they were officially Sleeping Together. Zeke had to be thinking, considering, reconsidering... wondering if it was really worth doing. Not that going to bed wasn't easy. Most nights they could rely on Casey being far too worn out to make any trouble, and a lot of the time Zeke would be just about as tired. Dealing with a Casey was an exhausting way for Zeke to spend a day.

No, it was the waking up that would be the problem.

They had stopped over in Bozeman the night before and Zeke had gone to bed sated and dopey, rubbing a belly filled with a twenty-ounce Montana-bred slab of beef. He had insisted on ordering it despite, or maybe because of, all of Sasha's moral objections. So Casey and Sasha had sat across from Zeke in that restaurant almost gap-jawed with horror as Zeke worked his way through it.

"Zeke," Sasha said about twelve ounces in. "Did you ever see that episode of the Simpsons where Homer was in this steakhouse and there was a challenge to eat the world's biggest steak and Homer's competitor expired of colon cancer before he could finish?"

"Nope," Zeke answered, sawing off another piece.

"Kitten, you must have seen that one. That was funny, huh?"

"Um," Casey said, not wanting to think about Zeke dying or otherwise not being around. "Yeah."

"Did you know that they use ground up chickens for animal feed now?"

Zeke returned serenely, "Not for this cow."

Sasha rolled his eyes. "Well, enjoy. You aren't going to be getting beef every day from now on, that's for sure."

Around a mouthful, Zeke said, "Why, you think you're going to be around to cook every meal for us?"

Sasha looked deeply wounded, and Casey was abruptly shocked by Zeke's implication; he had assumed until now that Sasha was going to live with them, that it was a done deal. He had been sure that Zeke wanted that too, and apparently Sasha had the same idea. Sasha's hand patted his leg under the table for reassurance, and he grabbed onto it, wondering how to let Zeke know that he needed Sasha like he needed air.

"Okay," Zeke said matter-of-factly, laying down his fork and knife for a moment. "We haven't really discussed this yet but I guess now's as good a time as any. Better to get it done before we start the apartment hunting."

"I thought it was understood," Sasha said, levelling a calculating stare at Zeke.

"Don't get me wrong," Zeke shrugged. "I don't mind at all –"

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming."

"– I just want to make sure that all of us are in agreement. It's not just up to me."

Sasha turned down the intensity-dial. "Ah. Well, kitten," he replied, squeezing Casey's hand as he looked to him. "What do you say, then?"

Casey held Sasha's hand and tried vainly to speak. Not that he didn't have things to say, they just got jumbled up in his head at important moments like this. Maybe someday soon he'd be able to write Sasha a letter and lay it all out... how Sasha was the only person who had never changed on him, the only person who never would, and how completely restful it was to know that Sasha was always totally and exactly Sasha. Even when Sasha had surprised him with his anger or disappointment, there was no indication that he was anyone other than Sasha.

It wasn't that Casey thought badly of people. They didn't do it on purpose. It was always by mistake, from a place they all had where words failed them, the place everyone acted from, all heart-broken and fucked-up. Casey figured that was how the aliens had gotten to people. It was supposed to be something that happened to them against their will, but the truth was that the aliens found that fucked-up place despite a person's most determined efforts to hide it and that place invited the aliens in. So they didn't do things because they meant to, and they did things to Casey because he had that place too – except there was something about his place that was different, that inflamed and agitated everyone else's, and basically made him a deviant among defectives. None of them could change or stop it.

That was why Casey loved Zeke – Zeke whose every move, even the simple acts of cutting and chewing, were discrete and comprehensible. Zeke was innocent in a way. He thought that everything could be broken down and understood – he believed it like you were supposed to believe in things you heard in church. Zeke tried with everything in him to redeem his faith, to the extent that he even appeared to be successful a lot of the time. He was absolutely confident that he could speak to that aberration within Casey that triggered all the violence and madness, and give it a voice. Casey didn't want him to find out any different. He shook with terror when he thought about how close he had come to destroying Zeke already. He still might.

When Casey wasn't getting out any words, Sasha swung their hands a little under the table where Zeke couldn't see it, and said coyly, "Do you think you could stand to have me around, Kitten? I promise to be good."

Casey nodded gratefully. "Oh – yes."

"It's settled, then," Sasha announced.

Zeke made a face – with a smile hiding in it, Casey thought. "But you're going to have to sleep in your own bedroom from now on."

"I would hope so.... gotta have someplace where I coordinate the non-stop parade of boys and men I expect to see once news of my arrival spreads throughout the city."

Zeke produced a full-fledged snort of laughter. "I wouldn't want to miss that."

Once the steak had been consumed it was late. Back in their hotel room, Sasha crashed immediately in one of the beds, while Casey and Zeke climbed into the other together and got comfortable. Casey had fallen asleep while Zeke surfed TV channels in the dark.

It was becoming a nightly event, Casey waking up in pitch black with no reason to think there was anyone else alive in the world. His ribcage was trying to evict his heart and he couldn't get a whole breath. Sitting up helped ease the situation for a moment. He pulled air...in... and out, in... and out... while running the subtext see, you're breathing, you can breathe, the lungs work, you can breathe but his head was spinning and he was afraid this was what it felt like when you had a heart attack or an aneurysm. The room was so very dark, darker than other rooms had been and he couldn't remember where he was, couldn't find any visual references. It wasn't right. Usually there was some light, something had to be wrong --

A whisper of the familiar: "Casey."

Now he remembered a few things. He was in a hotel room in Bozeman and he had forgotten that Zeke was in this bed with him. He stayed just as he was, trying desperately to regulate his air intake and not beg Zeke for help. Zeke might not like to know that even with him in the same bed Casey was waking up like this – and Zeke shouldn't have his sleep disturbed this way. Zeke spent all day managing Casey, that should be enough, he should have to be on duty all night too –

A rustling sound. Warm hands on his shoulders.

"Hey. What's going on?"

"Z-Zeke..."

"Easy, Case."

"Can't... breathe..."

"Of course you can, you're doing it right now"

"S-sorry... woke you..."

"Don't be ridiculous, I would much rather be awake than asleep." Zeke rubbed Casey's back, making his body sway a little. Casey could barely feel Zeke's touch; his hands tingled and jittered, his skin was somehow alive with nerves and numb at the same time. "Just breathe. It's okay..."

"... oh...kay..." he echoed, working at believing it.

"Yeah... that's good..." Zeke's hand came to rest on the muscles between shoulder and neck, kneading them. "Does this help?" Casey didn't answer and Zeke just kept up the massage. Casey concentrated on his breathing until he felt reasonably confident of a continuous air supply.

Now he could twist around and seek Zeke's body in the dark. Zeke made a slight noise at the thud of their bodies connecting but his arms came up around Casey lightly, not pressing or squeezing his ribcage.

"Better?" Zeke asked softly.

Casey nodded, his head sliding against Zeke's t-shirted chest.

"Your heart's going like mad."

"Why's it so dark?" he murmured to Zeke, shivering with the chill that came after fear. His own shirt was slightly damp with sweat.

"So dark –? Oh... black out curtains. There was a light right in my eyes so I closed them before I went to sleep... I didn't think..." Zeke tightened his arms just a little. "Do you wanna lie down?"

Casey went agreeably, keeping his eyes closed out of a preference for a self-inflicted darkness. Zeke let go of him just long enough for them both to get horizontal and then wrapped Casey up snugly again. Casey's head ended up tucked under Zeke's chin with one of Zeke's legs thrown over his. He was enveloped and it was just so good, so wonderful to be blanketed in Zeke.

"Does the dark... bother you?" Zeke whispered.

"No..."

"Do you want me to open the curtains?"

"No... just didn't know where I was."

"I'm sorry, Case."

He sighed, feeling quite content now. "s'okay." Already his eyelids felt heavy. He touched his mouth to Zeke's neck, not to kiss but to appreciate Zeke with his entire olfactory apparatus. "Smell good," he whispered. He decided to rest there. "Tired, Zeke."

Zeke didn't say much of anything, until: "Go to sleep then..."

Casey's eyes opened to a bright beam of sunshine as the curtains were yanked open by Sasha. At the very same time that Casey became aware of the light on his face, he comprehended that he and Zeke were still completely twined around each other and -- he supposed not entirely unexpectedly -- Zeke's rigid cock was molten hot against Casey's abdomen.

"Rise and shine!" Sasha exclaimed, oblivious to what he had caught them in. "I want to get this driving shit over with." He was a pajama-clad guru of good will with an oversized bag of personal grooming equipment tucked under his arm. As he passed by them he positioned himself at the foot of their bed momentarily. "You two are just too cute for words. I'm gonna shave." He grinned widely and sailed into the bathroom, shutting the door.

Casey peeled himself off of Zeke. It was a struggle to look at him, but when he did he found that Zeke was having a similar difficulty, staring at some point on the wall.

"So," Zeke remarked and stopped like he couldn't think of a single word to apply to the situation.

Zeke without words was Zeke in extreme distress. All Casey could think to do was to apologize. They wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for him being so needy. He tried to say it, even while knowing it wouldn't be well-received. "Sorry – "

"Don't." Zeke turned on his side, presenting his back. "Stuff like this is going to happen. Let's just ... just...let it happen."

"I could... I could help."

"No. Even if we were going to...we have a chaperone here, anyway," Zeke finished, sounding bitter.

"Not after today," Casey noted.

He wasn't trying to be provocative, only to state a basic fact that Sasha was not going to be sleeping in the same room with them after today, but Zeke flipped over and glared at him. "Casey," he said. "Don't start." And he darted into the bathroom the moment Sasha was out.

Going to bed was easy. Waking up was going to be hell.

 

"...Casey."

"Hmm?"

"We're here."

The soothing hum of the Mustang's motor had ceased. Casey saw a row of older-looking brick houses but was unable to take in much more than that, fatigue narrowing his perception almost to what was right under his feet. Climbing the stairs to the second floor required all his concentration.

"Oh, my friggin' god!" Stokely's freckled, radiant face was the first thing that Casey could see after the door flew open. She hurtled herself at him, coming up short just before impact to stop and look him up and down. Finally she hugged Casey joyfully, saying, "It's just so awesome...I can't believe you guys are here!" She held onto him much longer than was really comfortable, letting go only after she realized that Casey was stiff in her embrace.

Casey could see Stan just over her shoulder. He was smiling but looked almost as awkward as Casey felt. "Hey, guys," he said. There was some warmth there, yet his eyes flickered uneasily between Casey and Zeke. Headline: "Casey Connor has converted Zeke Tyler to his way of life. No pictures yet, stay tuned for updates."

"Hey," Zeke returned, sticking out his hand. "Great to see you, buddy." Under other circumstances Stan and Zeke might have hugged, but those days were over now, weren't they? Stan didn't like fags. He had told Casey so in their third period science class when Casey was fifteen. Stan was not going to take the risk of touching Zeke even if it was usually acceptable for guys to show affection to each other on occasion.

"Yeah... great to see you, too." Stan shook Zeke's hand and turned to Casey, who had finally gotten out of range of Stokely's arms. "Casey," he acknowledged, shifting his weight, eyes flickering nervously.

Escaped mental patient on the loose!

Tottering on that precipice of sheer exhaustion, Casey couldn't prevent the giggle that escaped him – and maybe it would have been okay if it were just a giggle but it didn't stop, echoing in the small lobby, probably right up the stairs to the third floor apartment, feeding on his own horror at the sound of himself.

Stokely and Stan made appalled faces.

Sasha was standing behind Casey and quickly slung his arms around Casey's shoulders, rubbing his face against Casey's hair and whispering "Shh... shh," in his ear. With his petting and a ragged effort of will, Casey was able to get the hectic sound contained, pulling it back gulp by gulp.

Attempting to cover for him, Stokely said, "Hi, you must be Sasha... Zeke mentioned you. I'm Stokely."

"It's great to meet you and I'm sorry to impose like this," Sasha replied, still holding Casey loosely.

"You're not imposing – well, enough standing out here like idiots, come in!"

Stokely began to give them a tour of her home, which was going to be very crowded as long as the three of them were visiting. It was part of an old house that had been converted to apartments, and therefore had a peculiar lay-out. But it seemed to match this new version of Stokely... and there was no way to miss that Stokely had changed drastically. Her hair was long and red now, and she had put on some weight, giving her a slightly plump but healthful appearance. She was wearing an embroidered peasant blouse, hippy jewellery, and no make-up. Her general state of well-being was so obvious that Casey felt defeated just looking at her.

"Living room," Stokely said, flapping a hand at it. "Kitchen... no dining room, we just eat on the couch most days. Down the hall here...there's the two bedrooms. The extra one we use as an office but it has a futon. Bathroom's right at the end. I'll show you how the shower works later... it's tricky." Stokely turned about, her excitement at having them there undiminished as yet. "So... what do you want to do now? I could make tea. Or... you're probably wiped, huh?"

"Pretty much," Zeke agreed.

"But some tea would be nice," Sasha said quickly. "Just to wind down."

Stokely looked to Casey for his preference, but he said nothing. The discomfort in the air multiplied rapidly.

"You're probably wondering where we're going to put everyone," Stokely said, trying to talk through it. "That couch opens up into a bed. Stan and I will sleep there and... Casey and Zeke, you can have the big bed in our room, and Sasha, you can have the futon in the extra room, I hope it's okay."

"More than okay," Sasha replied, at his most gracious.

"Just a sec," Zeke said with a frown. "We don't want to kick you out of your bed." He was visually nudging Casey, evidently wanting him to say something.

"The sofabed is fine," Casey mustered up.

"No," Stokes insisted. Her face was getting pink. "You're the guests, I don't want you to sleep on that thing, it's lumpy. I wouldn't feel right about it, and that's that." She went into the galley-style kitchen, so small that it could hold only one person, two if they really liked each other. "What kind of tea would you like? I have just about everything."

"I'm going to go get our stuff out of the car," Zeke said.

"I'll help you," Stan offered. "You guys stay put." He waved at Casey and Sasha.

They were left standing just outside the kitchen in the entrance to the apartment, watching Stokely rifle through a cupboard. She was reciting, "Camomile, Darjeeling, Earl Grey, Oolong, various fruit flavours, regular old Pekoe, and then there's the nettle and the burdock and the ginseng with ginger..."

"Something fruity and no caffeine please," Sasha suggested.

"Right." Without warning, Stokely stopped talking and digging in the cupboard and just studied Casey, apparently not minding that he could see her doing it. "Shit, Casey," she said. "You're so different, I just can't stop staring... " She tore her eyes away reluctantly. "And I mean that in a good way."

"You mean he wasn't always hot stuff?" Sasha cracked, trying to lighten things up. He squeezed Casey's shoulder.

"Mmm," Stokely considered. "Actually, you know... I think he was." She smiled at Casey.

He should be saying something to Stokely about how she had changed too and how amazing she looked. He thought about asking her if it was really okay that he and Zeke were taking her bed. The sounds just weren't coming.

"Go, sit," Stokely urged when it had been silent for a bit too long.

Sasha and Casey went into the living room and sat down next to each other on one of the couches. Casey knew he was going to fall asleep there, which made him not a good guest at all.

This was all too unreal. There was a Stokely that he hadn't spoken to since the summer before he left for college, someone with whom he was quite at ease, and there was this Stokely who was a budding earth mother goddess. He didn't know her, he only recognized the familiar lines and angles as she breathed and spoke and performed a simple task like bringing in cups for tea. It felt a lot like those first few days in the hospital, when he spent all his time beating his head against the clear, solid barrier between him and everything. The kicker was, as unreal as he felt, he could still get scared.

The tea kettle's whistling startled him; he was almost asleep already. He fought to get his eyes open but ended up jumping awake again when a teapot was set on the table in front of them. His vision spun slightly as he tried to focus. Sasha was right beside him but where was Zeke? Something about luggage.

"Thank you," Sasha's voice said. "Sorry to be in your hair like this."

"No problem!" exclaimed Stokely from a distant place in the room. "I'm just so jazzed that you're all here. It'll be so awesome to have friends from home living in the same city."

"So what do you do, Stokely?" Sasha asked politely.

"Right now? I just work in a health food store. It's kind of a neat place, it's been around since before health food stores really existed. I just don't know quite what I want to do with my life, too many things interest me, you know? Maybe I'll go to school. How about you?"

"I'm a cook in need of a job."

"Oh... you mean like flipping burgers? Or more like Emeril?"

Sasha sounded amused. "More like Emeril."

One thing Casey had learned: If he just let his eyes close, it would probably be easier when he woke up.

 

Zeke and Stan fetched the bags in almost complete silence. Discussion was limited to "This one, here" and "Geez, that's heavy...what's in there, rocks?"

Stan was a straightforward sort of guy and was not having much success at hiding his unhappiness with the sleeping arrangements. Zeke had a pretty good idea about Stan's opinions of homosexuality; he'd witnessed more than one demonstration. Most times it had been Stan snorting or laughing in agreement to some comment of Gabe's, and not a few of the comments had been directed at Casey, who had been suspected as one of those from the moment he stepped into the high school.

But Stan had shown a sincere respect for Casey after the aliens. Zeke had been present to see Stan's reaction upon learning that it had been Casey who, in the end, dispatched the alien queen: Pure wonderment, like the order of things had been turned upside down. In that last year of high school Stan had tolerated no criticism of Casey. The few times that Gabe tried to go down that road, Stan had immediately blocked his way. At the same time Stan had confided in Zeke his general uneasiness about Casey, never considering that Zeke might harbour such grotesque and distasteful feelings for him.

Zeke knew that he needed to confront Stan but he was just too tired, it would have to wait. Besides, if Zeke let it be, Stan would bring it up soon enough on his own. One of Stan's virtues was that he was incapable of hiding much of anything for very long. Zeke was fairly certain that was the main reason that Stokely liked Stan so much.

The scene when they returned to the living room inspired emotions that Zeke would sooner have died than express out loud: Casey and Sasha were on the couch, Casey dozing with his head at a very uncomfortable-looking angle, tilted up against Sasha's shoulder. There was a pot of tea and two mugs in front of them. Sasha was occasionally taking a sip, heroically attempting to keep the Casey-laden side of his body frozen and immobile. Stokely was watching them with a dismayed grin.

"Want some tea, Zeke?" Stokely asked, not taking her eyes off one half of the pair on the couch.

"Um... no, thanks."

Stan was watching Casey too. Zeke figured they needed to have their fill. It seemed that he'd had a similar reaction himself last Christmas, when Casey hadn't looked nearly as breakable as he did now. Stokes and Stan had to be wondering what they should say or do, what was off limits and what was just part of an average day.

"You have a nice place here," Zeke heard himself say, shocked to hear himself making polite small talk. Maybe Sasha was influencing him more than he knew – and there was a frightening thought if ever there was one. But he could see that Stokely had done a lot to make the place her own. She had painted every room in one earth tone or another and the walls and shelves were crusted with decorative trinkets of various cultural origins. One wall held a bookshelf full of paperbacks. The furniture – obviously used – was dressed up in colourful South American blankets.

"Thanks," Stokes said mildly.

"And you look really good," Zeke added truthfully.

"Get out, I'm just huge!" Stokely exclaimed. "But you look good too -- except for the sunburn. That must have been rough, huh, breaking down in the middle of nowhere."

"You have no idea," Zeke said.

"Are you gonna keep the Mustang?" Stan wondered.

Stokely contributed right away, "Because, you know, you don't really need it here. A car's a bit of a nuisance."

"But good to have if you want to go camping or hiking for the weekend," Stan added wistfully. "We basically stick to the public transit, Stokes and me, but I ride my bike to work a lot too."

"I dunno," Zeke mused. He was right in the middle of teaching Casey to drive, after all.

In the resounding silence that followed, Zeke could feel all the unasked questions circling the room, looking for a place to set down.

"I'm sorry, guys," Zeke said. "I'm so tired I'm stupid."

"It's okay," Stokes returned easily. "I know you've had a long day."

"Really long," Sasha agreed. Nudging Casey, he said, "He should just go to bed. Kitten? Come on, wake up..."

Stan reacted to Sasha's nickname for Casey with a sickly smirk. Zeke had had a similar reaction himself once, but he was so used to it now that normally he barely heard it. With Stan in the room, it popped in Zeke's ears like he was just hearing it for the first time.

"Cay-see..." Sasha sang. "Cay-see..." Two heavy-lidded eyes struggled open. "Time for bed, you."

Casey got to his feet, muzzily fixating on the teapot in front of him. "I fell asleep," he muttered.

"That you did," Sasha replied, also getting up.

"Where's Zeke?"

"Right here," Zeke said immediately. "Go on, I'll be there shortly, I'm just about done myself."

"Kay." Casey took a few steps, stopped. "S-Stokely... I'm sorry. Sorry... Stan."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Stokely said.

"I'll be... better... in the morning."

"No worries, Case," Stan said.

That was funny, Zeke thought. No worries. Casey would have to be dead to have no worries.

Sasha followed Casey out of the room, almost but not quite touching his arm. Zeke took the couch that had been vacated, wishing that he didn't feel obligated to stay up and talk to their friends and that he could just go and crash with Casey. It was no strain on his intuition to guess that Stan and Stokely were frantic for a full update. So far he had told Stokely very little about the nature of Casey's illness except that Casey was depressed; and he had glossed over the events that led up to the hospital.

Stan and Stokely made awkward chitchat for a bit, asking Zeke about his business and the program he was taking until Sasha returned, wearing his pajamas.

"He's out," Sasha said. "You can talk about him to your heart's content. I'm going to hit the sack too, but first can I just give his folks a quick ring to let them know we got in okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sure," Stokely said. "Where the hell did I leave it? The bathroom, I think."

"Okay," Sasha returned. "Then... good night, and thanks again." He wheeled about and disappeared. Zeke saw Stan's eyes following him with something very near disgust.

With a yawn, Zeke said, "So... shoot. What do you want to ask?"

"I guess, just..." Stokely fumbled. "How is Casey?"

"Getting better."

Stokely bit her lip. "Really? Because he looks..."

"I know," Zeke reassured. "But there's a huge difference between the start of a day and the end of a day. He starts out not bad but the day sucks the juice out of him and by suppertime he's a zombie. But every day he seems to last a little bit longer."

"So in the morning he'll be like the old Casey for a while?" Stan asked.

"He'll never be like the old Casey," Zeke snapped. "He hasn't been for a long time, and personally I wouldn't want him to be."

"Oh, don't be like that," Stokely said, narrowing her eyes. "You know what he meant."

"I suppose," Zeke grumbled. "All I can tell you is wait and see."

Stan said forthrightly, "But I don't know what to say to him."

"Are there things we should know?" Stokely chimed in. "I don't want to do anything to... make him uncomfortable."

Zeke really didn't want to do this right now, but he supposed that there were things that they deserved to be warned about. "Well... don't be surprised if he doesn't want to leave the apartment."

"Fuck, that makes me sad. But why?" Stokely asked.

Zeke yawned once again. "Let's just say everything is a bit strange to Casey these days. I'm really wiped guys, can't it wait? "

Stokely nodded. "It doesn't feel right to talk about him behind his back anyway. I'd rather he tell me himself."

"Just don't pressure him," Zeke warned, getting up.

Unexpectedly, the memory of what had happened this morning slowed his feet and brought him to a dead stop. All day he had been angry at himself for not realizing that the whole, mortifying episode had been inevitable. And not just because he was a healthy male with functioning sexual organs. No, it was mostly because Casey's proximity called to Zeke like sugar to a diabetic, in complete, obstinate defiance of his higher faculties. For the first time in his life, repression was not getting the job done.

It certainly didn't help that Casey kept doing things that appeared completely innocent but were actually calibrated to undermine Zeke's resolve. Not that it was done consciously. Casey had something that couldn't be instructed, a thing that just seethed and hummed without his knowledge or participation. It was instinctual, non-verbal, and about twenty times more enticing than anything Casey could have done to deliberately tempt Zeke – although those episodes hadn't exactly been a breeze to resist either. Bottom line: Zeke knew he was in trouble. He had spent a solid hour today considering asking Sasha to crash in a sleeping bag on the floor beside them – or maybe even with them? Yeah, sure.

Still, it had been absolutely gratifying to hold Casey last night when he woke in distress. To feel the tremors ease not because of his words but solely because of his presence... Zeke was an instant junkie. But was it really necessary that Casey nuzzle his neck that way, his mouth exciting a crackle of sensation down into Zeke's stomach? And having done that, just fall to sleep, his lips barely brushing Zeke's throat? Zeke had been paralyzed, with Casey's hair teasing the underside of his chin, Casey's lean torso sending suggestion with every breath. It couldn't have been more like seduction if it had actually been intentional. Sleeping with another person was going to be difficult enough, but this... fuck, holding Casey and sleep were mutually exclusive. It seemed like Zeke had only just drifted off early yesterday morning when Sasha woke them.

Standing in Stokely's living room and contemplating the many nights of sensory torment that lay ahead of him, Zeke asked, "Can I take a shower?"

"Sure," Stokely replied. "Come one, I'll show you where the towels are. And the taps are tricky, I'll explain them –"

He needed a plan, and this was it: He would look after himself. Scheduled jerking off before bed. And in the morning he would wake before Casey and get in that bathroom. His obsession would not be Casey's problem, and perhaps after a few days when Casey had relaxed and settled in a bit he would be able to sleep without any anxiety and they wouldn't have to be glued together all night.

Once under the spray he only had to think about last night's whisper of Casey along the length of his throat to start getting hard. A few firm strokes and he was fully charged, dreaming freely of lambent eyes fixed entirely on him, glowing with his name... of purposeful hands holding him and a lithe tongue drizzling a delightful confection in his ear... When are you going to fuck me, Zeke? When are you going to take me? and he had those glittery eyes under him suddenly and was pounding into that body so perfectly sleek and hot and all for him and he howled out now, now, now... you're mine...mine...mine, now... Casey...

Clean and dry and wearing the chaste armour of t-shirt and boxers, Zeke later slipped into the bed where Casey was curled in a chilled, lonely lump. The sheets were fresh, fragrant and still slightly cool. The moment Zeke's warmth was available to him Casey rolled over and sought it, and yep, Zeke was fucking grateful for his time alone in the shower.

"Casey?" Zeke whispered. Casey was still, his breathing even and slow, but Zeke sensed he was awake. "Case?"

"Mmm."

"You awake?"

"I'm sleeping ..." Casey mumbled. Zeke didn't think he was trying to be funny.

"Okay..." Zeke stroked Casey's back, his fingers taking pleasure for some odd reason in discovering the knobby curve of the spine. "Case... I just want you to know... what happened this morning? Not going to happen again. I mean that – I can take care of myself. I don't want you to worry about it."

Casey didn't reply; it seemed he was fully asleep again. Hopefully he had been conscious enough to hear.

With Casey curled next to him, Zeke was able to fall asleep. But he woke to Casey pushing closer, working in as deep as he could with two fistfuls of Zeke's t-shirt. He almost had a purchase on Zeke's skin, and it hurt. Zeke pried Casey's hands open carefully. Casey made a sad little noise and renewed his grip, thankfully just cotton this time, pressing his head rather desperately into Zeke's breast... all while still asleep. Zeke gave up on sleep for himself right then and just cuddled him. Casey's body was so tense, it was like holding a bundle of sticks – but gradually, slowly, his limbs loosened and he seemed to be sleeping normally.

Early morning found Zeke staring at the wall with burning, grit-tormented eyes. He had managed a few catnaps here and there but now he knew he needed to move and try for some real sleep. He disengaged himself as carefully as possible and flopped on his back. It seemed like an instant later he felt Casey shifting beside him. He opened his eyes and saw that Casey was sitting up, facing away with arms wrapped around his knees.

"Hey," Zeke said and touched Casey's back. Casey's muscles bunched and twitched under his hand. "It's too early to be awake."

Casey's head remained as it was, turned from him. Zeke heaved a lengthy, strictly internal sigh. "You're too far away," he said. "Come here."

After a hesitation, Casey lay down, deliberately not letting Zeke see his eyes. Zeke drew him up beside him, but Casey made himself like a board, rebuffing comfort.

"What's the matter?" Zeke wondered softly.

"Nothing."

"Sorry, wrong answer. Try again."

"You don't like it," Casey said.

"Huh?"

"You don't like... sleeping together... you're not comfortable."

Zeke scrabbled frantically for a clever fix-it, gave up and said, "Casey, it isn't that I don't like to hold you. I do, I really do, I just can't sleep very well at the same time. I'll hold you until you fall asleep and when you're scared and any time you ask me, I promise. I just need to have a little space to sleep... okay?"

"Okay," Casey returned quickly. And he got up at once, almost fighting his way out of Zeke's embrace.

"Casey – "

"Want a shower."

"Don't be angry, Case, please – "

"I'm not," Casey said, standing beside the bed now. As near as Zeke could tell he was not lying. He didn't look at all angry – just completely devastated.

"Casey, this is just us adjusting to each other – "

But Casey was in a rush to get around the bed and to the door. It was quite a small bedroom and he ran into the footboard, banging his shin by the look of it but he kept on going like it hadn't happened, like he didn't even feel it.

"Watch the hot water tap," Zeke advised quickly when Casey seemed unlikely to halt his exodus. "You turn it exactly halfway – and it takes a few minutes – Casey – ?"

"I hear you," Casey said, slipping out the door.

Zeke fell onto his back again. "Fuck," he said to the ceiling.

Had he told Stokely and Stan that mornings started out good? What he should have told them was that Casey had refined the art of the ugly mood swing. Three days ago Casey had been raging, two days ago he was talking philosophically about space movies and serving up delectable nuggets of wry wit every hour. Now he was just meek and sad, one moment trying to purchase Zeke's affection, the next crying over a physical impossibility. On Planet Illogic, the place where Casey lived, it was possible to require everything and nothing at the same time, and Zeke was feeling quite weary just now.

In short order he heard Sasha go creeping to the bathroom door to call to Casey. Apart from that and the sound of the shower running, Zeke heard nothing to suggest that others were awake in the apartment. He decided to try to squeeze out a little more sleep. He closed his eyes and didn't hear the water being turned off.

The next thing he knew was a scent of coffee, and onions frying, and voices down the hall.

"Good morning – or should I say afternoon?" Stokely greeted Zeke when he appeared at the entrance to her tiny kitchen. Sasha was hovering nearby where he could look in and converse with her, and Casey rocking against the wall nearby in that way that he did. He was obviously invested big time in not looking at Zeke.

"Is it afternoon?" Zeke said. He didn't feel like letting Casey get away with his little escape act, so he went to him and smacked a kiss on the side of his face, ignoring his flinch, before turning back to their hostess.

"Just about," Stokely answered. "I'm cooking you my special veggie omelet."

Zeke said, alarmed, "Veggie?"

Sasha laughed. "Just be glad she's not a vegan or you wouldn't be getting your eggs either." He took a slurp from his mug and said, "This is the best java I've tasted in a long time, Zeke, you've got to try it."

Stokely was busily cutting up cubes of tofu. She said, "We buy it from a shop around the corner, they roast their own beans and everything." She tossed the tofu into her pan and then poured a mug of coffee for Zeke from a freshly brimming pot. "Case?" she said, offering him a refill. For a few minutes they were all occupied with getting themselves and the milk and sugar sorted out.

"Aren't you having some?" Zeke asked of Stokely.

"Nope, I've given up caffeine, it's Stan who usually drinks this."

"No caffeine?" Sasha burst in with mock horror. "Gracious."

"Where is Stan, anyway?" Zeke wondered.

"He had to go to work."

"On a Saturday?"

"He works a lot of weekends, actually."

Zeke took a sip of his coffee. "Mmm... that is good... what does Stan do again?"

"He's an intern at the Seattle Chronicle. Right now he mostly does research and verifies the scores but he's learning the ropes as he goes. He's hoping to get to write some short pieces this year."

"Stan?" Zeke said – not very diplomatic, but it had never occurred to him that Stan knew how to write a sentence, let alone a whole paragraph, even if it was a paragraph about sports.

"Don't make fun of my man. He's got potential, Charly says."

"Charly?"

Stokely seemed unusually keen to answer this question. "Stan's aunt. She's the editor of the sports section, she was the one who said she'd give him a shot at the paper – but she has told him he has to at least take a few journalism courses if he's really going to get anywhere."

"I knew he had a job offer but I forgot what it was," Zeke mused.

"You just weren't interested," Stokely corrected. She said to Sasha, "I don't know how well you know this guy, but in high school he had this whole 'I don't give a damn about anybody' thing going on."

"So did you," Zeke reminded her.

Stokely took cover by turning back to the pan on the stove and folding her omelette in half. "You've got a point there," she admitted, trying to keep in a smile.

"Zeke acting like a badass... Never would have believed that," Sasha drawled.

"Believe it. He used to sell drugs in the boy's bathroom at school."

Sasha seemed shocked, but he sniggered, "My, my, you were a troubled soul, weren't you?"

"Bite me. It wasn't hard stuff, just a little home brew of caffeine and aspirin. Anyway, it's a damn good thing I was the criminal I was, or none of us would be here now."

"What do you mean? Where would we be?" asked Sasha, puzzled.

"Um... I'll tell you about it some time."

"I take it this is one of those things."

"Yep." Zeke answered briefly. He glanced anxiously at Casey but Casey was visiting some other kitchen. Stokely followed Zeke's gaze and frowned with puzzlement and not a little sadness before returning to her eyes to the pan on the stove.

"Omelette number one," she announced. "Who wants it?"

"I'll take it," Sasha volunteered when neither Casey nor Zeke leaped up.

 

Once upon a time, a hot shower had been pretty damn good therapy, a discovery that had been one of the more uplifting discoveries of Casey's early teen-age years. It warmed, it massaged out the tremors, it soothed bruised flesh, and it was almost always entirely private. These days, though, it wasn't as effective as it used to be. Thanks to the miracle of modern medical science, there were getting to be just too many thoughts and feelings to be drowned.

God, fuck, he was clingy and pathetic and he put Zeke in situations that were horribly embarrassing and on top of all this he kept Zeke from getting the sleep that he was certainly entitled to after a full day of trying to fill the gaping maw of need that was Casey Connor so there should be one small thing he could do, just one little fucking gift he could give since he couldn't give anything else. He should have been able to say Okay, Zeke, of course you need to sleep and I'm fine with that calmly and maturely and then hold it together for a little while, just a while, ten minutes would have done it. But no – he knew right away that he was going to burst into tears and so had to jump up and be completely obvious about making his way to the shower to cry. It shouldn't hurt so much when Zeke said what he said, it was a perfectly reasonable request from a man who was labouring under such a tiring burden. Poor Zeke was trying to start a new life and all the while dragging this thing around his neck, quite literally around his neck. It wasn't like Casey could even look him in the eye either, he couldn't smile and mean it, he froze with terror when Zeke sought anything like a real expression of affection. He wasn't fit for Zeke, he wasn't, he didn't deserve –

"Casey?" came a soft voice. It was inside the bathroom... Sasha, he realized just before the intrusion could bring about a new epic crisis.

"Just – just a minute!" he got out. He had lost time; the water that had been hot when he started was now tepid. He turned it off, leaving nothing of course for the four other people in the apartment – because there had to be unlimited hot water for Casey and no one else, not that hot water was even getting the job done anymore.

Casey peered out from behind the shower curtain. There was no sign of Sasha, and he quickly dried himself and got dressed. In the mirror he caught an image of a face with red, swollen eyes. People had called that face beautiful but they were just confusing beauty with something freakish. He wanted to smash it.

There was no one in the hall, and no sounds of movement. It was still early of course, and Zeke was probably trying to catch a little more sleep. Sasha's door was ajar. Casey crept to it, hoping it was a welcome – and it was. Sasha gave him the royal wave and patted the spot he had all ready in front of him in the twin-sized bed. He hurried to spoon his short body with Sasha's longer one, his back to Sasha's chest. They lay in a snug bundle without speaking, at first.

"I missed having you here the last two nights," Sasha said quietly, fingers picking up their comfortable habit of playing with Casey's hair. "Maybe Zeke and I need a schedule to share the Casey-cuddles. Half the night each maybe, or we could trade off, every other night."

"Or I could stay with you," Casey muttered.

Sasha's hand stilled. "I don't think you mean that. Zeke's got to be first choice -- he's got that whole manly protector thing going on, you've gotta love that."

"You're manly."

"Kitten, I do believe that's one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me even if it is a lie. I'll give you that I'm tall and fierce...." The play with his hair resumed again. "What's Zeke done now?"

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"No, it's... I'm the one who... did something."

"And what terrible thing did you do?"

"If I'm with him he can't sleep," Casey said miserably. "He told me."

"Ah." Sasha's playful motions traded up to a full-fledged stroking. "Is that why you were crying at 7:30 in the morning?"

"It's – stupid."

"It is not stupid, don't you dare say that."

"Sasha, I'm afraid..."

"Afraid of what?"

"I'm... I'll break him."

"Oh, kitten." Something nuzzled the top of his head. "Now listen to mama... I think Zeke would let you know if being with you got too hard for him. He is just about the toughest guy I've ever met and I suspect he's quite happy to trade a little sleep for making you feel better."

When Sasha invoked mama there was no use in arguing so Casey subsided and wallowed in Sasha's warmth, and didn't get into the other reasons why Zeke had a problem with sleeping with him. Sasha probably already knew everything as it was. Casey ended up drifting off for a little while and woke when he heard Stokely's and Stan's voices and the front door to the apartment opening and closing.

"She seems nice," murmured Sasha in his ear, sounding a little sleepy himself. "A good soul." That was true, but all the same Casey didn't feel like going out to face the prospect of interaction with the stranger-Stokely. "Not so sure about him, though."

"He's okay," Casey said. "He never bullied me."

"No, I'll bet he just watched, huh? I don't like the way he looks at you. Oh, well, maybe there's more to him than I'm seeing. Shall we get up?" Sasha suggested, and pushed him slowly out of the bed, giving him just enough time to find his feet.

They found Stokely busy in the kitchen, cooking. "Good morning," she said. "I'm making omelettes." She handed them each a mug of what turned out to be extremely robust coffee.

Not long after, Zeke arrived in that hall, still in his sleeping gear. Casey couldn't look, couldn't bear to see him with tired, dark-circled eyes but he kissed Casey with no indication of ill-feeling about earlier this morning. Stokely presented them each with a plate of tofu-onion-mushroom-pepper omelette and told them to go sit in the living room to eat. Casey ended up sitting with Zeke on the couch.

Stokely plopped herself down in an Ikea armchair. Casey didn't remember the chair from last night, nor had he noticed any of the decorations in the room. Right now he did notice that they had a medium-sized TV and a VCR. Perhaps later they could watch a movie. Something he had seen about a hundred times, that would be good. The Philadelphia Story. There's a magnificence in you, Tracy... a magnificence that comes out of your eyes, that's in your voice, in the way you stand there–

Zeke elbowed him. He turned his attention to his breakfast, picturing Katherine Hepburn in the arms of Jimmy Stewart.

"So what do you all want to do today?" Stokely asked, chewing.

"I dunno," Zeke replied. He was working his way stolidly through the food on his plate.

"We could go to the university... so you could get oriented a bit, Zeke. It's a little bit too far to walk, though, so we would have to take the bus. And then – "

The bus. A long tube filled with people, driven by some stranger. Casey had used it a handful of times in Cincinnati, but only in his first few months there and in Roy's company. The very thought of it made his stomach rebel against Stokely's special breakfast – but he didn't say anything. A person in his right mind would have assumed that he would live through taking the public transit and a walk around campus. Casey was going to do his utmost to impersonate that guy.

"Why don't we drive?" Zeke proposed, no doubt for Casey's benefit, and Casey didn't have it in him to resist the suggestion. "We have the car, might as well use it."

"But," Stokely began, and stopped when Zeke directed a stern glare at her. "Okay," she conceded. "And then I thought maybe we could go downtown to see Stan."

"I'm..." Zeke began uncertainly. He angled his body to Casey and asked, "Case... what do you say?"

With that, they were all on stage – Zeke, not quite touching Casey's arm and addressing him with tender concern...O Thou Pathetic One, pray tell if we shouldst go out into the sun like normal folk?...– while Stokely looked on with sadness for the friend she had once known and Sasha made ready to spout something sarcastic to divert the tension of the moment.

"Sounds good," was Casey's line, and he made certain that he enunciated clearly. The positive note that he had intended to strike was made jagged and rough by nerves. Zeke gave him a searching look but just nodded, not challenging him – and that was a good thing. His resolve would not stand up to much probing. A single expression of caring would probably do him in.

Their little scene ended as Zeke changed the subject. "At some point we should grab a paper and check the classifieds for apartments."

"Oh, right... so you going to be living with these two, Sasha?" asked Stokely.

"Apparently, yes."

"Awesome," was Stokely's comment, not entirely heartfelt. "And how'd you happen to connect up with them, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I connected with Casey first. I was a friend of Casey's boyfriend."

"Oh... in Cincinnati?"

"Yes."

Stokely seemed about to inflict her curiosity upon Casey but suddenly her face seized with an idea and she erupted, "Oh, I know the perfect place for you three!"

"How's that?" Zeke said.

"Right above the store where I work. It's been vacant for a month. I didn't think of it until now 'cuz I thought you'd be looking for one bedroom."

"So it's – "

"Two bedrooms. I could call and get the number and see when you could drop by to look at it."

Zeke shrugged. "It couldn't hurt. What do you two say?"

"Might as well look," Sasha replied.

Casey nodded his agreement.

It only took a couple of phone calls for Stokely to arrange for them to see the apartment that afternoon. They now had a very full day ahead of them. Casey found himself thinking about his mom and how relieved and happy she would be if he reappeared at her door, how every line and corner of that house down to the rips in the bathroom wallpaper were mapped out by his memory. But he was Here now, wherever Here was, and he would keep remembering that he owed it to Zeke to not be weird. He would walk out that door and he would be the opposite of weird.

Zeke pulled him aside for a moment on the sidewalk outside Stokely's building. He had shored up his will in preparation for it so when Zeke wanted to know, "Are you okay with all this?" he could say, "yes," and sound like he meant it. Zeke was excited about his new life, so Casey was going to do this – even if he knew in his heart that he wasn't going to be alive at the end of the day.

So Casey and Stokely piled in the back seat of the Mustang, with Zeke and Sasha in their usual configuration. Casey hadn't appreciated until now how much he loved the back seat of the Mustang.

At the University of Washington campus, huge banners proclaiming Frosh 2002 were easily observed from the car as Zeke drove up and down the surrounding streets. The area was teeming with students, some obviously trying to figure out where they were going, others seeming quite comfortable and purposeful. Some were in the company of parents driving trucks or vans filled with their belongings. "Shall we have a stroll around campus?" Sasha proposed.

"I don't know," Zeke hedged, trying for a look at Casey in his mirror.

"Yes," Casey answered quickly, not meeting Zeke's reflection.

"Okay," Zeke agreed, a trifle absently while he combed the streets with his eyes. Then he asked, "Frosh?"

"You don't know what Frosh is?" Sasha said, shocked.

Zeke was caustic in reply. "No, I don't know what Frosh is."

"That's basically where all the students get shit-faced," Stokes supplied, in that way that only she could.

"Sounds fun."

"I did all that way back when," Sasha commented. "It was a huge waste although I didn't know it at the time."

"I don't drink anymore," said Stokely, a touch primly.

"Hmm," said Zeke. "No meat, no caffeine, no booze... anything else?"

"Refined sugar... no soda, of course."

"Of course."

"Not that you probably aren't healthier in the long run," Sasha held forth earnestly from the front seat to the back, "but don't you think that an absolute ban on certain things is extreme? I mean, everything in moderation and a lot of variety seems to me the way to all around well-being. And besides," and Sasha here smacked Zeke's shoulder, "you've got to have a little slice of cow once in a while."

"Or a big one," Zeke concurred.

"You should have seen this thing Zeke ate the other day, Stokely. It was like a whole roast. You would have been horrified. I was horrified."

It seemed that only Casey could see how Stokely was a little bit flushed, a little bit glum. He recalled that the friend-Stokely of two years ago had often had obsessions that would absorb much of her energy until she was done with It and moved on to something else. She would talk about It constantly and get a little down when people didn't share her interest, or worse, mocked It. Casey chanced a smile for her and she brightened a little, smiling back at him.

They had to drive the perimeter of the campus for a while, and just when Casey was beginning to hold out hope that they wouldn't be able to find a parking space and would be able to settle for a driving tour of the campus, they came across a spot at the side of the street.

Zeke had a package of information that had been mailed to him and wanted to look at the buildings he would be having classes in, not because he needed to know ahead of time, Zeke wasn't nervous like that. Perhaps Casey was the only one who knew that Zeke had always had a geek inside him that he worked really hard to keep people from seeing. He kept looking back at Casey, trying to engage him – after all, this would be Casey's school too, at some point. In theory. Casey, with Stokely beside him, was hard-pressed to keep up with his taller friends, until finally Stokely barked something about short-legged people having to work twice as hard to go half the distance and the two giants eased the pace somewhat.

Having completed their initial tour of the main campus, the four of them stopped in front of one of the larger buildings to confer. Nearby them stood a young man in big baggy shorts and a nylon shirt who was handing out flyers and hawking: "Wednesday night... pub crawl... get your Frosh Aid kit... pub crawl Wednesday..." He gave one to Zeke.

"It says here we can find out about all the orientation week goings-on at the student union," Zeke noted. He was very obviously making an appeal to Casey.

Casey was practicing the discipline of not thinking. People brushed him or jostled him and he made his mind studiously blank. He tried to force back every thought that could lead to somewhere frightening. It was okay, he was fine... okay... fine...okayfineokayfine.

"Let's go see," he forced himself to say and was amazed at how normal he sounded. He decided that being taken by aliens was a more than reasonable trade-off for the smile that Zeke gave him then.

The student union building was absolutely crusted with signs and posters proclaiming a free concert in the main concourse on Wednesday, all day. Casey didn't recognize any of the acts; they were probably local garage bands and somewhere in him was a faint glimmer of interest. A table was set up outside the building, more packages being handed out with free pens and stickers and coffee mugs. Zeke waded in to get one while Sasha, Casey and Stokely remained in a loose huddle nearby on the sidewalk.

Someone with an armload of books ran into Casey and Stokely and went on their way without an apology. "Nice manners!" Sasha shouted after the person.

"What happened?" Zeke demanded, rejoining them in full attack mode.

"Just a rude person." Sasha shrugged, visibly restraining himself from putting his entire body around Casey to shield him from any more of them. He asked Zeke, "You done?"

"Yup. Now what?"

"Aren't we going to the Chronicle?" Stokely wondered.

Sasha exchanged a look with Zeke. As before, Zeke looked to Casey. Casey could only nod, as he had set his jaw to hold back the pitiful whine that was pressing against his teeth.

The Seattle Chronicle was housed in a sleek, narrow building constructed of a pale maroon-tinted glass. They took an elevator to the thirtieth floor, but that was no worse than being in the building itself. Casey didn't particularly mind enclosed spaces, what he minded was the overall sense of being surrounded by a structure manufactured and maintained by people, people who were hidden away in rooms and closets and twisting hallways. He was that much more helpless inside it than he would be walking on the street. There, at least, he could have a hope of running away.

It wasn't what he expected of a newspaper office, though. It was quiet, filled with cubicles where a few people were working on computers, not the classic old manual typewriters that his film-informed mind told him to expect. All was very pristine and new and synthetic. The outer wall was a row of larger, more prestigious offices while the inner wall boasted enormous framed action-shots of various sports events with their original headlines from the Chronicle. Stan had a cubicle near one of the wall offices. He was wearing jeans and a dress shirt open at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and he looked quite professional.

"Hi!" Stan exclaimed upon seeing them. Inadvertently his eyes drifted to Casey's and he glanced away quickly, just as the night before. "This is a surprise."

"I thought they could meet Charly," Stokely said.

"Right." Stan made a grand gesture. "So this is where I work."

"It's totally you," Zeke commented.

Stan looked suspicious at the apparent compliment, but if there was sarcasm there he couldn't find it. "Yeah... I've met so many pros, it's incredible. At our last Christmas party I met Ichiro Suzuki."

"That's cool," Sasha said, as if he had some idea who Stan was talking about.

Stan turned the same expression on Sasha, like he was certain that he was being mocked by the fag. Casey braced himself for Sasha to make some sort of in-your-face statement, but none came.

"Do you want to meet my aunt?" Stan asked.

"Sure," Zeke replied. Unexpectedly, he slung a possessive arm around Casey.

The nameplate on the door read Charlotte Rosado. Stan knocked and received a curt "come in". They went into an office whose windows provided a generous view of the city, with Elliot Bay in the background. Behind the glass and stainless steel desk sat a woman who appeared to be reading the Saturday edition of the Chronicle. She was sparely built with a noticeable tight winding of sinew all over her body, like someone who ran every day. Her hair was Stan's, very tightly curled and cut extremely short. Framing an attractive face and accented by square, black glasses, it worked.

"Stan," she said without looking up, "What happened to that blurb on the Charity Bowling event, I thought – " Stan cleared his throat and the woman noticed that she had guests. "Oh. Hello. Who do we have here?"

"Charly... remember my friends I said were coming to stay with us for a while?" Stokely prompted.

"Oh, yes, of course, from Herrington." The woman's eyes latched onto Casey. "I know you," she told him. "Casey Connor. You killed the alien queen. You're smaller than I expected."

Running was out of the question. It helped that Zeke had his arm around Casey, holding him in place, and Casey pinched his left forearm with his right hand as hard as he could. He had to make it really hurt because it was either that or fly out of this particular, highly undesirable continuum.

"Charly," Stokely said anxiously.

"Well, it's not like he's anonymous," the woman returned. She had a very dry, very precise way of speaking. It was not entirely unkind, but neither was it gentle. "I have a Time magazine with his face on it at home." She came out from behind her desk and offered her hand to Casey. "I'm sorry if I shocked you... I recognized you is all. Charlotte Rosado, but you can call me Charly."

Can you not be weird... not be weird... not be weird... Casey accepted... Charlotte-Rosado-but-you-can-call-me-Charly... accepted her hand and shook it, while white foam thickened around the edges of his vision.

"Welcome to Seattle," said Charly.

Zeke interposed smoothly, "Good to meet you, Charly. I'm Zeke and this is Sasha." There was steel pressed between his generic words, essentially warning Charlotte Rosado to back off or face a Zeke who was not so polite.

"Ah. Zeke." Charly gave him the same, crisp handshake. "And – Sasha? I don't think I've heard your name before... So what are you all up to today?"

Stokely supplied, "I'm taking them to look at an apartment, but after that I don't know."

"I see." The woman sat on top of her desk. "Zeke. You're here for school, I understand."

"Yes," Zeke replied grudgingly.

"It must be difficult to stay in your home town after everything that happened." Charly's gaze landed on Casey again. "I always thought some magazine should do a follow-up piece – what it's like for the heroes who stayed. I know Stan and Stokely found it difficult at times."

"To tell the truth," Zeke said, and he was in that dangerous mode that Zeke sometimes got in, "We really would prefer to let that all go and just be like everyone else here. I'm sure Stan and Stokes enjoy their anonymity."

"Fair enough," Charly said, seeming unperturbed. "But I would love to talk to you – both of you – about it sometimes. If you feel up to it."

It was getting really bright and loud in the room now. There was a roaring in Casey's ears but still he could see that Stokely's eager expression, the one she had worn every time she mentioned Aunt Charly, was crumpling badly under Zeke's hostility. Sasha's face wore an unequivocal thumbs down and Stan's was just a fiery red. Casey tried to say, "Thank you," hoping someone would take it as an opportunity to change the subject. He stopped when he couldn't hear himself over the roar. He lifted a hand to chafe his ear, rubbed hard, and again because he didn't feel anything, not a thing, and there was still the roaring going on. He caught Zeke looking at him and let his hand fall.

He was fucking up.

Charly made a loud noise with her open palm on her desk. She said, "Tell you what? I'd love to take you all out for dinner. Sort of a welcome – and I promise not to mention aliens."

Stokely said, "Oh, Charly, that would be awesome --"

"No," Zeke refused.

"I... what?" Stokely asked, disbelieving.

"We can't do dinner tonight, I'm sorry."

"But it wouldn't be –"

"I said no, Stokes."

Stokely's mouth fell open. She closed it and said, "Still in charge, huh, Zeke?"

"You'd better hope so," Zeke retorted.

Zeke was in one of his rages; Casey could feel it in his hands when he put them on Casey's shoulders to steer them out. Zeke didn't say a word until they got back in the car, whereupon he twisted to face Stokely. She was sitting quite conveniently in the middle of the seat and got the full blast of his fury.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Zeke, I'm –"

"We came here to get away from that crap -- and then what happens? The very first person we meet!"

"I – "

"What exactly is her problem? And you, Stokely, you wanted us to meet her in the worst way –"

"Will you shut up for a second? I didn't know she was going to say that."

"Oh, right and I'm supposed to believe that you never knew how fascinated she is by our little sci-fi adventure?"

"It's not like that... She talks about it once in a while, not often. When we first moved here one day she asked me to tell her about it. Stan never talks about it and she said she was curious. She believed me, Zeke. She's just curious, that's all. It's the way she is."

Zeke breathed audibly through his nose. "Fine. But you tell her not to bring it up again." He lit up a cigarette before he started the car. "I suppose we need to look at this apartment, let's get it over with."

"You could have tried not to be so rude," Stokely muttered, sitting back in the seat and folding her arms.

 

Hi, my name is Zeke Tyler and I'm a fuckwit. I drove my lover to the point of meltdown so I could get a free coffee mug, but on the bright side he's still walking and almost talking and hasn't folded into a ball on the carpet yet so I guess that gets me off the hook....stupid fuck!

Zeke had been going about for the past two hours having the time of his life, enjoying the fruits of his own willful blindness. After all, Casey had agreed to the itinerary and repeatedly pressed on when given opportunities to bail, and Zeke wasn't so very blind that he didn't know why. He was grateful. He figured Casey pushing himself couldn't be a bad thing.

Then he saw Casey standing there trying to placate that woman, unable to get out two words intact, and doing that thing with his hand on the side of his face, rubbing it like he wanted to draw blood. He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't stop when Zeke noticed it, and was that supposed to make Zeke less of a fuckwit?

They should go home right now, but the whole problem was that there was no home to go to. One more errand might solve that problem, and better it was solved sooner as opposed to later. Zeke wasn't interested in a long, drawn out apartment hunt. If the place was suitable and not too pricey, he would be inclined to take it.

The store where Stokely worked was in funky neighbourhood inhabited, to all appearances, by at least three generations of hippies. A hand-painted sign, in an array of bright colours, stated its name: "Wellth". Stokely started to ask if they wanted to come in and see the store, caught herself before she was finished the question, and went in alone. She emerged with a somewhat older woman named Tara, who said that she was acting on behalf of the landlords. Tara had the key to the apartment, which was accessed by a stairway around the back of the building.

The place upstairs had a large front room that would fit all of Zeke's home entertainment equipment plus actual furniture when they got it, and a kitchen that Sasha could live with. The front window was large and afforded an interesting view of the goings-on down on the street below. Best of all, there was another door that led up to a small, private roof space. Someone had turned it into a patio; they had left behind some of their shrubs and perennials, and there were a couple of beaten up wicker chairs padded with even more beaten up but comfortable-looking cushions. Zeke didn't normally care about such things, but he was thinking that Casey might be spending most of his time at home over the next month or so at least and he wanted to know it was someplace pleasant. He didn't like to think of Casey shut up inside. He could tell Sasha was thinking along the same lines.

"So?" Stokely queried. She was half-smiling; she knew she had done good. Perhaps – although Zeke wasn't ready to say so – it would be enough to atone for the blunder with Aunt Charly.

"Would we have to fill out an application?" Zeke wondered.

"Yes, but it shouldn't be a problem if I vouch for you," Stokes said.

Tara explained, "The owners like to do things in more informal, word of mouth kind of way. They've never advertised this place and they've never had much trouble finding tenants."

"I can see why," remarked Sasha. "It's a keeper."

Zeke asked, "Will we get to meet the landlords? Or do they like to remain anonymous with you as their agent?"

"Of course you'll meet them," Tara said. "But most times you can contact me if you have plumbing problems or anything like that, I can fix most of them. I'm kinda the unofficial super."

"And who are these people?"

"Just a couple who own this building. They're retired and they spend half the year in Arizona. Actually, they'll be heading off there in about a month."

"Would we be able to move in this week?"

"I don't see why not."

"We have to find some furniture. I do have some large items arriving that I shipped to Stokes and Stan, it would be helpful if we could bring it right over here." Zeke turned to Sasha and said, "We'd have to go shopping tomorrow."

"Your words are as music," sighed Sasha facetiously.

Zeke then gave his attention to Casey, who was standing there apparently not hearing much but he responded with a blink when Zeke spoke to him and looked like he was tracking well enough. "Case. What do you think?"

Casey didn't appear to believe he had a vote on it. Zeke knew that it bothered him that he was being supported completely by Zeke and his father. Zeke couldn't figure why it had to be an issue; most students were dependent on their parents, or at best they had scholarships or grants, and Casey had been no exception in his academic career thus far. "How much... the rent?" Casey asked, probably fretting about his father's far from inexhaustible resources.

"Seven fifty a month," Tara answered. "That includes utilities, except for phone and cable of course."

Casey chewed on his lip.

Zeke said to Stokely and Tara, "Do you mind if we three have a little confab?"

"Not at all," said Tara. "Come on Stokes, let's go outside."

Once they were gone Sasha turned to Zeke right away and said, "I'll pay my share."

"You don't have a job."

"No, but I will soon, and I do have some savings."

"Why don't you let me pay two thirds until you get a job?"

"Because I would rather you didn't."

Zeke rolled his eyes. "Whatever makes you happy." He turned to Casey. "Can your dad do two-fifty?"

"Dunno," Casey muttered. "I... think so."

"You could call and ask him tonight. Whatever he can manage, I'll get the difference."

Casey just gave a brief nod, and closed his eyes.

"I think it's time to go," Sasha said, quite unnecessarily.

 

As they stood on the sidewalk looking up the stairs to the second floor entrance to the apartment, Stokely said, "I'm going to zip over to the store to pick up a few things for supper."

Sasha offered right away, "Can I come along? Maybe help?"

"Yeah, sure." Stokely handed her key to Zeke and urged, "Go on, make yourselves at home."

The moment they were inside the apartment Casey dove for the bathroom – and Zeke followed right after. Casey looked shocked when he turned about to shut the door and there was Zeke behind him. He started to vibrate, his eyes darting around as though looking for an escape hatch. Zeke stepped in and shut the door, careful not to slam it. "Are you going to throw up?" he asked quietly.

Casey's colour wasn't especially encouraging, but he shook his head. "I... just want... a bit of... of quiet," he pleaded. "I won't lock the door."

"I know," Zeke said. "But maybe I could do the quiet thing with you."

Casey looked him up and down, obviously doubtful but not wanting to reject Zeke outright. "I don't want to talk," Casey protested.

"Oh, well... good. I get tired of hearing myself anyway. But we could go in the bedroom. It's a little more comfy there."

Casey shook his head.

"You like it in here? Okay."

Casey didn't move. He swayed a little and his eyes started to glisten. "Don't you want a break from me?" he asked.

"No," Zeke said matter-of-factly. "In fact, I think I need a huge hug. I'm in withdrawal now, haven't had you in my arms for almost eight hours." He grinned, opening his arms with a slight flourish.

Casey's smile was a bit watery, but real. He moved in readily and for a while he just stood being circled by Zeke, his arms at his sides. Zeke didn't try to hold him any tighter than that. He could sense the tremors rippling through Casey and that there were dangerous, frightening things going on inside him. Zeke wished he could open up Casey's skull and surgically remove every thought that made him shake like this.

"Everything feels wrong," Casey whispered.

"I know," Zeke replied. "I feel it too. It's a bit weird... But that's normal too."

"I wish... I wish we could get in the car and – and go."

This was a startling bit of information. "Go where?" Zeke asked, unhappily.

Casey's breath hitched. "S-somewhere..."

"Do you want to go back?" Zeke worried. "To Herrington?"

Long silence.

"No."

"Because if you did, I would take you back, Case. You're not trapped here. But... I think if you hang in there..." Zeke winced, he hated when he sounded like the Disney channel. "It will get better. And once we're in our own place... That will help too."

The slam of the door and two chattering voices heralded the return of Sasha and Stokely. Zeke reflected on how it was easy to stop knowing the people you knew best. Casey and Stokely had been pals, but they were entirely changed people now. They might get the closeness back... But it would take some effort. Zeke figured Casey knew that too, and he wondered whether Casey felt it was worth doing right now.

While he was thinking this, Casey's hands were winding into him. "Let me," Casey breathed.

Any question of what that meant was answered as Casey sought his mouth, and Zeke had no thought of refusing him, tasting the pure essence of another person's need as their lips clung and shuddered with his jagged sobs of breath. With the taste of Casey in his mouth, Zeke teetered on an edge between giving comfort and succumbing to insentient demand, and fell. He tugged Casey's body even closer to his and used his tongue to open Casey's mouth a bit more, just enough to get a hint of a deeper flavour.

For a time he remained there, until somehow he managed to climb back up on his difficult perch. He drew back just slightly, while pressing soft caresses to the curve of Casey's mouth where lips just began to find definition in a graceful arc, and then his cheekbone, and his closed eyelids. As the space between them widened, Casey tried to find purchase on him.

"Enough," Zeke murmured. "It's enough."

"No – " Casey gasped.

"Yes... Come on now, we're in Stokely's bathroom."

Zeke exerted a gentle pressure on Casey's shoulders until he was out of kissing distance. In his more separate space, still with Zeke's hands still on him, Casey took up a slightly hunched posture, his eyes downcast and spiritless. There was no anger to be seen and that was intensely worrying somehow.

"Case... You aren't giving up on me, are you?"

The eyes fluttered, startled. "No."

"Good."

They heard the front door open again and this time Stan's call echoed down the hall: "Honey, I'm home!"

"Are you ready to go back out there?" Zeke asked, trying to sound lighthearted.

"Guess so," Casey muttered without conviction.

"I know what you did for me today, Casey. I'm very grateful, but I don't want you to drive yourself too far – just enough, okay?"

Casey looked like he was trying to smile and couldn't quite get it done. "Right," he said wanly. "Just enough."

Stokely had conceded to her guests' tastes to the extent of cooking chicken for supper. In Zeke's opinion she was very tempted to eat some of it but staunchly held off – while Stan inhaled his and told her several times that she could make chicken any time she wanted. Because no one else was saying much, Sasha was drawn into a lengthy discussion with Stokely about the vegetarian lifestyle, a discussion that became unnecessarily quite heated. Stokely patently didn't see that Sasha was trying to canvass all sides of the issue as opposed to just debating with her; she took many things he said as contradictory when they weren't intended to be. That was the obstinate Stokely that Zeke remembered with frustrated fondness, although he rather wished that Stokely might have tried harder to interact peaceably with Sasha, for Casey's sake. But then, Casey's face during the course of the argument did not suggest that he was upset or stressed about it. If anything, he kept looking at Stokely like she was some particularly complicated scientific formula he was trying to work out.

Stan bravely waded into the silence that swelled up when they were done their meal and sitting around with their empty plates. "Zeke, I was wondering... thinking maybe you'd like to go out for a few beers."

This struck Zeke as an excellent notion, but also improbable. "I'd like to..." he began, trying to think how to handle this.

"Cool," Stokely approved before Zeke could say anything further. "It'll give Casey and me a chance to talk."

Sasha was left with no guidelines as to where he was least unwanted. Looking miffed, he said, "I'm going to go out too, I think... Scout some restaurants. Or maybe I'll cruise the gay bars." He winked at Stan and appeared to enjoy the grimace that this provoked.

Casey was completely expressionless, giving Zeke no sort of guidance as to what he should do. Zeke would willingly have foregone something that was merely for his own pleasure, but he also felt an urgent need to deal with Stan's little phobia so they could all get on with things. He didn't see Stokes and Stan not being in his life and he was not about to endure Stan's blatant discomfort every time he touched Casey. It had to be addressed – and it was ridiculous to worry about leaving Casey with Stokely. Stokely cared deeply for Casey, and even if she could be argumentative, she was decent and reliable.

Zeke helped with the dishes and when that was done he got out of Stokely's way so she could make tea. Sasha took Casey aside for a very brief, hushed conversation that seemed to be more about hugs and back-pats than words, and departed right after. He blew Stokely a kiss as he left, startling a smile out of her.

Then it was time for Zeke and Stan to go out. Casey silently followed Zeke to the door. It was not unlike Casey's attempt earlier to seclude himself in the bathroom; Casey gave Zeke a jolt when he turned around to say that he was leaving and found Casey right on his heels.

"Maybe I shouldn't go," Zeke waffled.

Casey said, "No. Go." His eyes said something else, though.

Zeke put his hands on Casey's shoulders, leaned in and kissed him, very conscious that Stan was nearby and scowling. He rested his forehead against Casey's for a moment. "You're okay, Case. You're safe."

Casey nodded.

"I won't be very long."

"Kay."

At Stan's suggestion, they were on foot this time. Blocks away, their street crossed a major artery lined with shops, restaurants and bars. It was a pleasant, late summer evening and the sidewalks were busy with people. Zeke allowed himself to feel the excitement of being among that bustle of activity. Just walking around was entertainment.

"So, where we going?" he asked Stan.

"I thought Joe's Sports Bar, it's down the street here. Sound okay?"

"Sure."

They walked a bit.

"I'm sorry," Stan said suddenly.

"For what?"

"That business at the office. Aunt Charly rubs a lot of people the wrong way."

"You don't say."

"She is okay, I mean, she gave me this job and all... but she's like... She doesn't know how to stop telling you what she knows. And with Stokes lately it's Charly this and Charly that." Stan sighed. "And Stokes is totally obsessed with this holistic stuff. I have to sneak out to get a steak."

Zeke smothered a laugh. "I never pictured you working for a newspaper."

"Neither did I," Stan admitted. "But Aunt Charly knew I wanted to do more than just play sports – and it's a really good opportunity for a guy like me, you know?"

"Come on, Stan..."

"Nah, I'm not intellectual like you... you and Casey..."

The spectre of that name had an immediate effect on Stan, who began to exude discomfort again. Zeke was very close to barking out a challenge – but they were nearly at the door of their destination. It was quite the typical sports bar, TV's everywhere, the waitresses all blond and slim. Zeke and Stan found themselves a table where they could both watch the Mariners' game that was in progress.

"You ever go to the games?" Zeke wondered as he got comfortable on his high stool.

"A few times, when the paper had some extra seats to give away. Tickets are hard to get unless you wanna be in the nosebleeds. I've been involved in the behind the scenes stuff a few times..."

"Can I get you boys something?" Their waitress was wearing a snug t-shirt proclaiming "Joe's Finest" and Zeke found himself smiling appreciatively.

They ordered their beers, and Zeke took advantage of the opportunity to get caught up with his cigarette intake – he hadn't asked but assumed that Stan and Stokes' apartment was a non-smoking establishment. Stan was drumming his fingers nervously and repetitively on the table. Zeke let him run with that for a while, lulling himself with three beers, using the baseball game to facilitate mindless guy talk. By the fifth inning, though, Stan was clearing his throat often and casting quick glances at Zeke -- only to look just as quickly back at the screen. Zeke couldn't bear it any longer.

"What's eating you, Stan?" he said.

Stan squirmed a bit on his stool. "Nothing."

"I really believe that, too."

"It's nothing."

"Hmm, let me guess then. It's something to do with me and Casey sharing a bed."

Stan's ruddy skin flared up to a deep burgundy. His eyes flicked around, just in case someone was listening and cared enough to judge him for sitting at a table with a fag.

"Stan, whatever you're thinking, you'd better get it out of your system because I'm not going to give you too many more chances."

Stan lowered his voice, moving a tad closer to Zeke. "Okay, then... You've gotta snap out of this."

Zeke laughed at this, just a little because it was too ridiculous for anything else. "What?"

"This thing with Casey, it's... You're not like that, Zeke. I've seen you with enough girls to know. I don't get it."

Zeke stared across the table at someone whom he had considered his friend, disbelieving. He was having trouble deciding on what he wanted to say. He sucked back on his latest smoke and drank some beer to give himself some time to think about it. Eventually he responded, "What is it you think is happening, exactly?"

"I think you're feeling sorry for Casey."

"And what makes you think that it's any of your business?"

"You're my friend, Zeke. I think you're making a mistake – and by the way, you just asked me for my opinion!"

"I wanted to know why you pull a face every time you look at Casey. Not that it was so hard to guess. What I'm asking now is what makes you think you're even entitled to have an opinion about who I sleep with."

Stan's ears were bloody crimson now. "It's wrong," he stammered. "Just wrong. You've got to... You know it is."

"And what about Casey? Are you going to have this talk with him too?"

"Casey is Casey. He's always been that way."

"So let me get this straight, as it were. Casey is doomed to be gay, but I'm not."

"I shouldn't have said –"

"Fuck that. I'm staying in your apartment and you're fixated on what we're doing in your bed. How do you think that feels, Stan?"

"Zeke..."

"Another beer?" interrupted their waitress. Her false smile cracked a little as she felt the aggression at the table. Zeke shook his head at her and she went away.

"Go on, then," he urged Stan. "Tell me how I can be saved."

"Zeke, you're a guy."

"And?"

"And... Well, you've just gotten a bit... lost is all. I could see how it could happen."

"Really."

"You and Casey... since the aliens came you've always had this way... you'd take off together and talk or whatever and no one else really counted for a damn thing. And you were just like some fucking rabid guard dog around him... nobody would be getting near him because they knew you'd hand them their liver. And now he's... sick... and I just think you've taken this protecting thing a bit too far."

Zeke's hand ached; he realized he had been clutching his empty beer bottle through this whole exchange. He loosened his grip and used his most chill voice. "That's really interesting, Stan. For a guy who's not an intellectual, you've spun yourself quite a theory. Is this Stokely's opinion too?"

"No," Stan scowled. "She thinks it's just about the most romantic thing she's ever heard. We had this huge fight when she told me. I said I can't believe she encouraged you."

"So what's your advice?"

"I don't think I should say, you're pissed at me now."

"But it's too late, isn't it? You'd better tell me exactly what you think."

"Um... okay," Stan faltered. "It's like... even I can see why you feel like.... well, you can't leave him, can you? I don't know what happened to him but he hangs on you like some sick little puppy and you just love it don't you, Zeke, you get high off it."

There was something liquid and deadly filling his body. "Mmm hmmm," Zeke said. His cigarette had burned down to ash between his fingers.

"Maybe you could end the...romantic part. It would be good for him too, I'll bet. You could keep everything... clean. Just friendly."

"Uh huh."

"I'm telling you what I think, Zeke."

"Okay. Now let me tell you what I think." Zeke slammed his empty beer bottle down on the table, and Stan jumped. "I think we're going to pack our bags tonight and go find a hotel."

"What... You don't mean that."

"I sure the fuck do mean it. I'm not going to stay where I'm not welcome, and I'm not going to subject Casey to your vibes either."

"That's crazy, Zeke! You are welcome, we want you to stay – and Stokely will kill me if you go!"

"That's not my fucking problem."

"Zeke – you're still my friend."

"Zeke the Hetero Guy is your friend. I'm not." Zeke stared full into Stan's face, speaking slowly and distinctly. "Listen up because I'm only going to say this once. You're going to have to decide if we're friends or not, Stan, because I have no friends who tell me who to be. I'll forgive you this one time but that's it. If you're going to flinch or make faces or worry about what we're getting on your sheets, then we are not friends. If you think that I'm just taking pity on Casey, then we're not friends. If you think Casey is dirty, unnatural or going to hell, then we are sure not friends. Do you hear?"

"I hear another Zeke Tyler speech," Stan replied stonily. "You always did that. Always so sure you were smarter than the rest of us."

"I am smarter. Are we friends or not, Stan?"

Stan didn't answer.

"I guess that's a no."

"I need some time," Stan muttered angrily.

"To do what? Decide if you're capable of changing your mind – because that's what's it's going to take. You're going to have to act like a normal person around Casey... and you're going to have to talk to Sasha, there's just no way around it."

"Oh, that guy, Zeke, he's... just so --"

"He's my friend. Are you, Stan?"

Their waitress interrupted them. "Excuse me – "

"We're fine, thanks," Zeke growled.

"But, there's... are you Zeke and Stan? There's a call for you. Smokey or something."

Stokely.

Zeke snatched the cordless phone from the woman's hand.

 

"You okay, Case?"

The voice of Stokely intruded on his latest disappearing act, pulling him back. He turned from the door that had just closed with finality behind Zeke. "Yes, just – tired."

"I... wanted to say... I didn't mean to drive your friend Sasha away. I like him, I really do, Case."

"I know."

"And I'm really sorry about what happened today, I shouldn't have assumed that going out for dinner with Charly was okay. Should have asked at least." Stokely winced. "I just get carried away, you know?"

He managed a little smile. He was still standing by the door, as if Zeke would walk back through it at any moment. Pathetic. Oh, yes, he was pathetic, okay? Sleep would probably be the best course of action now – but that wasn't going to happen just yet.

"Hey, did you want to call your folks?" Stokely asked him.

Quite unexpectedly, he did. He wanted to call them badly. He settled on the living room couch and dialed home; Stokely tactfully left him alone. His mom answered.

"Hi, Mom, it's – "

"Casey! Frank, he's on the phone!" With the initial outbursts done, his mother settled into a calmer state of mind. "Are you okay, honey?" she asked.

He had a perfect image of her standing in the kitchen, holding the phone and talking to him amidst the green that she had insisted on painting the walls, that she called "sage" and his father called "pea-soup". Those walls had been that colour since he was thirteen, and before that they were egg-yolk yellow to match the table and chairs that had been tossed around the same time to make way for a new set of furniture. The old chairs had been vinyl and the one he always sat on had a patched rip that he had made with his butter knife when he was six. He remembered telling his dad that he had wanted to see what the chair's guts looked like. Dad had made him assist in the surgical reconstruction of the chair, and then bought him a detailed colouring book of human anatomy.

"Yeah," he said.

"You sound tired."

"I am."

"Well, we don't need to talk for long, I'm just really glad you called, honey, Sasha called us last night to let us know you got in safely but I'm really really glad to hear your voice... you're sure you're okay?"

You can come home any time you want.

"Yeah."

"Are you taking care of yourself... eating and... all that?"

"Sasha and Zeke... they keep after me."

"That's good."

"Mom... can I... talk to Dad?"

"Oh. Sure."

"I need to ask him something."

"Okay, I'll talk to you soon, right?"

"Soon."

"I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom."

His dad's voice: "Hey, Casey."

Just like that, his throat got tight. "Dad."

"How is – how's Seattle?"

"It's nice." Casey tightened his grip on the phone.

"And – how was the drive?"

"Long."

"I'll bet." His father cleared his throat. "Listen, Casey, your mother and I have decided we'd like to come and visit you there – say, in two weeks or so. Just for a few days, to make sure you're settled and have everything you need. All right?"

"Okay." Casey ground the word out. He was not going to break down and cry or his parents would freak out and beg him to come home and he would probably go because right now the thought of being with them in that house was one of the most restful images he could summon up which was funny because not long ago he had dreaded every minute under that roof. But that was another time, that was not now or before.

"So you'll have to let us know where you live," his father said, trying to sound cheerful.

"We – we found an apartment today."

"Did you? Where is it?"

How to answer that question? "I don't know... it's over a store where Stokely works."

"Oh, that's... that's a bonus, huh? Is it in good condition?"

"Yes," he said, which was technically a lie because he could barely remember what the place had looked like now apart from that rooftop sort-of-garden space which had appealed to him more than the apartment itself.

"And... how much is it?"

This was where he had to find some reservoir of energy. Closing his eyes he focused on speaking clearly and with the requisite degree of detail. "It's seven-fifty a month split three ways so – "

"Three ways?"

"S-Sasha's going to –"

"– going to live with you, of course, I should have seen that coming."

Casey couldn't answer that. He couldn't even sort out what his father meant by that comment.

"But that's a good thing," his dad added then. "It'll bring the expenses down, won't it? And I can see he's a... good friend. I'm... glad... he's there."

Grateful tears closed Casey's throat up completely, while astonishment emptied his brain.

"Okay, Casey. Two-hundred and fifty a month? I think we can do that... it actually works out to less than the residence fees. You talk to Zeke and figure out how you want to work this... I can send post-dated cheques or I could... deposit the money for you and you can take care of it how you like."

"Th-thank you...Dad."

"It's fine," his dad said gruffly. "But I want you to go back to school, Casey."

"Okay."

"Don't rush things, though."

"Okay."

"Call us after you get moved to let us know your address. And we'll see you in two weeks."

After hanging up, Casey tucked his legs up and leaned against the arm of the couch. Some time later he gradually became aware that Stokely was in the room.

"Do you want some tea?" she asked him. He shook his head. "Milk? Juice? Water? A shot of scat maybe?"

It was a good effort, but he was humourless. "No, thanks."

"What do you want, Case?"

He jerked a look at her, expecting to see anger or impatience or frustration but what he saw was an honest question.

"I mean," Stokely explained, "is there something you need, something I can do that would... make you feel more comfortable... because I feel like an idiot here."

Yep, that was the Stokely he remembered.

"Um," he said.

"Yes?"

"Could we... watch a movie?"

"Sure," Stokely said, brightening.

He and Stokely had watched a thousand movies together. They would huddle in Stokely's parents' basement to do it if they weren't going to the movie theatre. One time they'd held a 24-hour B-movie crappy creature movie marathon. They had stocked up on every known species of junk food and issued invitations to Stan, Delilah and Zeke.

Delilah had lifted her chin and said, "What a perfect geek weekend. I'm thinking... never in a million years." Stan had just shook his head and said, "I've had enough scary monsters... what's with you two?" Zeke had manfully tried to tolerate it but fell asleep halfway through the first one. When he woke up he left right away, muttering something about football practice even though it was 9:00 on a Friday night.

Stokely went on, "I don't own any tapes, though. Been wanting to get a DVD player and start collecting them when we can afford it. But I could run down the street and rent something. Or... we could go out." Stokely looked hopefully at Casey. "No pressure, though."

He actually considered it, to his own surprise – but even when he had been avoiding going out of Roy's apartment he had kept going to the movies. Still, it was always that repertory one where it was rarely full, especially during the day, and it was a very familiar place and not far from the apartment. Once he was in his seat and ideally no strangers were elbowing him, he could lose himself in the movie. He loved that theatre, everything about it right down to the smell of stale popcorn and spilled soda gumming his feet to the floor. In fact, he liked all movie theatres, old and new. And he hadn't been to one for so long – but he was so tired. And they would have to get there and back, they would either have to walk or take the bus, and what if Zeke came back and he wasn't here?

"Casey?" Stokely interrupted his ruminating. "It's okay. We don't have to go anywhere. I just thought you might want to is all."

He shifted and tucked his legs the other way. "I do," he said. "But I..."

"It's no big," Stokely grinned. "You remember when we had that B-movie festival in my basement?"

"Yes," Casey said, a bit disoriented by their remembering something in common.

"That was a great time, I'd love to do that again."

"Zeke has a home theatre."

"Oh, yes! Okay, I'm going to be living with you guys." With a sly look, Stokely scooted a little closer to Casey. "You know, I was trying to set you and Zeke up that time."

"Wh – what time?"

"The B-movie festival. I could tell you were into him... maybe you didn't say anything but I could tell. I knew Stan and Delilah would never show, but Zeke would maybe because the guy was always kind of hovering around you."

"He was?"

"Yeah. You didn't notice?"

"No," Casey replied faintly.

"Well, he was. I figured either he had to be interested or he was just uber-protective, the way he was stalking you."

Casey didn't believe Zeke had thought of him that way back then, not for a second, unless it was as some sociological curiosity... There was that time that Zeke had kissed him in the Mustang, though. He had almost forgotten that. He remembered being too shocked and nervous to do or say anything at first, and even when he did do something it wasn't much. He remembered staring at Zeke and thinking whatever was going to happen, he wanted it. And then it didn't, and Roy happened instead.

"And now here you are, the two of you," Stokely sighed. "It's so cool." Her face twisted a little, like something bothered her. "I just hope..."

"What?"

"Nothing," Stokely shrugged. But then she must have seen that her evasion was not going to help him any, and went on, "Just... Stan's taking it a little hard. He was raised churchy and he's got that whole male jock problem too." She fell to a bit of silent brooding, gnawing on a fingernail. "We had a mondo fight about it the other day."

Boiling hot fear scalded his body, erasing what slight sense of security he had been holding tight to his chest since Zeke stepped out the door.

So Zeke and Stan were talking right now, talking about him. Stan could barely find the will to talk to Casey and at this very moment Stan was telling Zeke how ridiculous he looked with Casey, how Zeke kissing Casey in public made him want to puke. Zeke had told Casey that he didn't give up, and Casey believed that, but it didn't have to mean what Casey thought it meant. It could mean that Zeke would stick by Casey as a friend but maybe he just wasn't really interested in trying so hard anymore. He'd been so angry with Casey only a few days ago, Zeke had, and he might very well have decided that it wouldn't work between them. Sleep together... just sleep was the rule although he let Casey kiss him today but he did make a point of separating them as soon as he could. Right now Zeke might be ogling a pretty waitress while he drank his beer and thinking about how much simpler it would be if he and Casey were just friends, now that Stan reminded him of all the reasons he had been keeping Casey a secret over the summer.

A long universe away, Stokely was still talking. "Casey... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I wouldn't worry about it, if anyone can talk Stan out of being a homophobic jerk, it would be Zeke."

No, it wasn't fair to Zeke to think this way, Zeke was honest at least as far as he understood himself – but wasn't Casey almost impossible to tolerate for long? And Zeke was not a patient man it just might not be worth giving up all his other friends and his more regular identity so he could wrestle through every minute of the day with Casey –

"How about we just flick on the TV and find something to watch?" Stokely asked, obviously desperate to distract him.

He nodded, but that little bit of movement was difficult. His body was made up of heavy, dead limbs sewn together that he could see lying there but couldn't really believe were attached to him. Stokely put the TV on and began to surf rapidly, talking the whole time like she did when she was nervous.

"Pass on that... I'm thinking no to that... Seinfeld, no way... oh, wait a minute – check this guy out, Case."

It was a local newscast. There was a man on the screen with bland, even features that were vaguely reminiscent of a person Casey had known, wearing the usual sort of newscaster suit, hair perfectly sculpted into a thick wave. He spoke in a manner of affected interest while holding his body like he didn't know it... a lot like Coach Willis had done when he was... infected...

"I met this guy at the staff picnic this summer, Charly knows him," Stokely said. "He's just an unbelievable prig, he apparently throws hissy fits if his dressing room isn't stocked with hand cream. And look at him, he's so stiff, I could do a better job."

.... so it was happening, it was happening and he was alone, Zeke was gone, he wasn't coming back and Sasha gone too not coming back and – why did they leave when he tried so hard no he knew why he was weak a burden useless so it was hardly surprising.

"Casey? Case? Oh, shit."

That was a bit of a voice that he remembered but she had been taken too, she had grabbed him through the cage and tried to hold him so the queen could get to him and she was touching him now she was going to...but maybe she was who she was but even so she didn't get it didn't get that it wasn't safe here not at all. He wanted to stop seeing it seeing her or any of it and closing his eyes wouldn't help. Nothing to do but wait for it to happen, he was helpless yet he still had to watch so stupid he had to stop being here just letting it happen to him.

 

They hurried home, almost at a run. Stan tried to speak to Zeke a few times, but Zeke just growled, refusing to hear him. He should never have wasted his time with this twit in the first place and if it weren't for Stokes and the fact that Casey was probably not going to be up to going anywhere tonight, Zeke would have cheerfully packed them all up now and gone to a hotel and nevermind that Stan hadn't actually given him an answer yet. The guy did not do change.

Zeke took the stairs up to the apartment three at a time.

Stokely met them at the door, crying. "I didn't..." she gulped. "I didn't know what to do."

Zeke knew a moment of rage and a second of panic before it all got shut down. "What?"

"I'm so stupid," Stokely lamented.

"Just – where is he?"

Stokely led him to the living room, pointing to the big armchair. Casey was curled there, inanimate and waxen, colourless save for the smearing of red around his eyes. His skin was glacial to Zeke's touch.

"How long has he been like this?" Zeke demanded in outrage.

"I think... it was maybe twenty minutes before I called you and then it had to be like forever waiting until they got you on the phone and I hung up and called back...must be an hour almost – "

"An hour?"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't... I didn't think. I tried everything, I yelled and rubbed his face and I even slapped him. Nothing worked, I've been freaking out by myself here – "

"Okay, okay," Zeke relented. It wasn't Stokely's fault. He had been reticent about the specifics regarding Casey and that once again made him the asshole, not her.

"I didn't know what to do," came the final chorus.

"He'll come out of it," Zeke assured her.

He considered his options. It would be ideal if Casey woke up and walked to the bedroom rather than Zeke having to carry him. Even a smaller-built person like Casey was not exactly a negligible weight and balled up as he was it would be a tricky little dance.

Zeke took out his keys. He grasped Casey's hand and opened it, than ran the sharp, jagged side of one of them across Casey's open palm, with just enough pressure to let him feel the teeth. There was no response that he saw, so he did it again, this time across the back of Casey's hand. He earned himself a violent twitch. He drew a line up the inside of Casey's forearm. Casey pulled his arm into his body.

"Ah, don't like that, do you," Zeke murmured. He set about bothering Casey's other hand, then changed his mind. Casey's feet were right in front of him. White sports socks, yes, Casey wore socks when it was eighty degrees out and they were brand new like his shoes and most of the clothing he owned. Zeke peeled down one of them until he had the heel of Casey's foot exposed. He gave Casey's heel the key treatment.

Casey made a noise of protest, tucking his feet closer to his body. Two bleary eyes oriented themselves to Zeke.

"Hi," Zeke said. "Better than cold water, hmm?"

Right away Stokes got on her knees beside Zeke. "Case, I'm so sorry..."

Zeke put his hand on the chair, interposing his arm between her and Casey. He wondered what it was that she thought she had done.

"'s.. kay," Casey mumbled. He blinked a few times, slowly like his lids were far too heavy to raise and lower. "Where..."

"Stokely's apartment," Zeke supplied. "Bed?"

Casey nodded, but at the same time a deep shiver went through him, and he added, "Sh-shower."

"Okay, c'mon then. You need to get on your feet for all that to happen." Zeke offered a hand to pull Casey up.

Casey was still ice-cold, his feet working sluggishly. Zeke escorted him to the bathroom, holding his arm to keep him moving. Stokely, obviously desperate to be useful, bustled in with a stack of towels while Stan stood helplessly in the hall. Zeke nodded his thanks and said, "I'll take it from here." He closed the door on them.

He set himself to the task of helping Casey to undress, doing most of the work himself, hating that this, right now, was the first time he was going to see all of Casey. He got over it by not really looking; while Casey stood in the centre of the room, naked, he handled the arcane matter of starting up the shower. With that done he looked back, and saw Casey half-way stuck in a trance that was refusing him access, leaving him exposed, eyes dripping moisture. Zeke straightened up without a word and took him into his arms, letting those eyes take some shelter at least.

Casey was getting better. He was. Physically – yes, absolutely. Zeke had now had the opportunity to see that most of his hurts were fading scars or faint, yellowish discolourations by now, if not completely disappeared. And emotionally, too, it was just that stuff like this was going to happen after days like today, and they were going to find Casey a doctor or therapist or both if necessary, first thing on Monday – no, Monday was a holiday, it would have to be Tuesday. And they needed to establish a routine in their own space, that would help too. It would all be good.

"Let's get you in there," Zeke said out loud. "Before the water gets cold."

He shifted Casey in that direction but it didn't quite work because Casey's fingers were laced into his shirt and didn't want to come loose. Zeke gently pried them out, his mind spinning with logistics. He could strip down and get in there with Casey, but the problems associated with getting them both in and out and dry and safely to bed under the watch of their friends were just too enormous.

So he half-guided, half-prodded Casey into the shower, deflecting Casey's attempts to draw him in too. "I'm going to be standing right out here, Case. Five minutes and then we'll be done." Zeke closed the curtain most of the way, leaving a small gap he could use to monitor Casey. And Casey just stood there being a human waterfall while the water warmed his skin. Zeke pulled him out and wrapped him up in three towels. He towelled Casey's hair until it was just a little damp, then steered him to the bathroom door.

Sasha was in the dark hallway. Stan and Stokes were still there, standing behind him, the three of them in a row. "What the hell happened?" Sasha demanded fiercely.

"Just a long day," Zeke replied, and that didn't sound at all like denial, did it? He moved past Sasha, said to his hostess, "We're going to bed now. Thank you, Stokes." He didn't look at Stan. Whatever Stan might have to say or think about it, Zeke didn't give a flying fuck. He heard Sasha go into his own little bedroom and close the door; Stokes and Stan presumably headed off to their sofabed.

Zeke decided not to turn on the light in the bedroom; the illumination from the window was sufficient, and a lot gentler. When Casey seemed uninclined to do anything for himself, Zeke unwrapped him, letting the towels fall to the floor. Zeke quickly pulled the bedcovers down and turned to Casey.

In those eyes he saw nothing less than a monstrous chasm of need. Zeke could either look away or be swallowed up and so his own eyes dropped and took in all of the body before him in the part-light. Still very thin, but the shadows cast in the room blurred all the angles and ridges that cried of unhealth so what remained was smooth, slender lines of muscle, and skin carved out of the dark and glowing just enough to be believed. Parts that Zeke had once thought he'd never be able to look at or touch belonged there every bit as much as the soft, girlish mouth and ambiguous face. There was a line of jaw that was so very male, and alongside it the long, thick lashes that were just so – not male. That it was all brought together in one incarnation astounded and humbled Zeke. He was looking at all of it and there was finally no question in his mind. All of it was what he wanted.

"Come," he whispered, beckoning and the strange and wondrous being came willingly to him.

He got Casey to lie down and covered most of him with the blankets. His eyes were still uncovered, though. They were dragging him in and he was going, helpless to stop it or to even want to stop it.

"I'm... I..." Zeke began to stammer... want you want you going to have you fuck you leave my mark on you make you real... "I'm going to brush my teeth. I'll just be a minute."

He fled that room. Instead of the bathroom, though, he found himself at Sasha's door. There was a crack of light showing from underneath, leaching out over the floor. Zeke knocked once, opened the door without invitation. Sasha was reading by the bedside lamp; he put down his book and said worriedly, "What?"

Zeke shut the door and sat on the bed, keeping his feet on the floor so he was giving Sasha only his profile, unable to face him. "I need that chaperone now," he whispered, very conscious that there was only a wall between himself and Casey and that Stan and Stokes were not very far away, just down the hall.

"Say again?"

Sasha's voice boomed; Zeke gestured frantically to lower the volume.

"I need help," Zeke whispered. "It was manageable when you were in the room but this is not manageable. He... you go and sleep with him, Sasha, please, I don't want him to be alone."

Sasha closed his book. He took a long time to answer. "You know," he said at last, very quietly. "It's truly amazing to me."

"What is?"

"How someone so brilliant can be so stupid."

Zeke jerked his head sideways to face Sasha, who appeared to be both amused and annoyed. "What are you talking about?"

"You need to get back in there. Now."

"But... didn't you hear..."

"I heard. And I know Casey needs you."

"I don't want to make another mistake."

"What makes you think you would make a mistake?"

"Because..." Zeke found he couldn't meet Sasha's eyes. I want to own him, I want to devour him and keep him inside me. "I feel completely out of control."

"Zeke." Sasha put his hand on Zeke's arm. "You're in love, you idiot. You don't go in there and fuck him. You go in there and show him how you're in love. Fucking can come later."

"But he's going to – "

"He doesn't know the difference anymore. You have to help him learn it again."

"I don't know a damn thing about it either," Zeke muttered, withdrawing his arm.

"You know more than you think." Sasha picked up his book again, opened it. He looked up briefly. "I'm trusting you, Zeke. Now get your ass back in there before I have to beat you."

Zeke had been dismissed.

He could do nothing but go back to the other room, so he went and stood just inside the door, shaking. Maybe he was having a panic attack himself. At least there was no sign of the formidable entity that had inhabited that darkened room when he bolted, only a lump in the bed that shifted when he came in. "Zeke?" it said plaintively.

"Yeah," he answered, shutting the door behind himself. He quickly stripped himself of all his clothing, with a self-consciousness that felt utterly crippling. What the fuck did he know about lovemaking? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. All he knew was he didn't want to be wrong again.

He slid under the covers. Casey immediately adhered to him, not reacting at all when everywhere was bare flesh meeting bare flesh. Of course, Casey had surely known from the moment that Zeke pinned that look on him minutes ago that Zeke's will had taken a major hit, and Casey was more than ready to press his advantage. His hands were already questing lower, reaching, while his mouth sought a target on Zeke's chest.

"Wait," Zeke whispered. "Wait – Casey – " Zeke managed to get his own hands between them and blocked one of Casey's. Not deterred, Casey's other hand kept going. It brushed against Zeke's cock which was already uncomfortably erect. Before Casey had him in his grasp Zeke got hold of Casey's wrist and forced his hand up and up, against the pillow next to his head. "Casey, stop this..."

Casey was now almost on his back with both his wrists pinned yet he wrestled with Zeke without making a sound. Fuelled by desperation and adrenalin, he was an automaton seeking gratification as he understood it. There was absolutely no sign of arousal, no interest from his penis that Zeke could detect, no warmth on his skin, only raw pain in his face.

"I don't like this, Case... calm down, please." But Casey wasn't ready to give up; he tried to grind his crotch against Zeke's. A hammer of pleasure pounded Zeke's body. His cock jerked, muscles in his groin constricted... a few more strokes and he'd explode. "Fuck – ! Casey, stop."

Casey went still, panting, his eyes closed and trailing silver.

"I just want you to be still," Zeke said. "That's what I want you to do for me. Can you lie still for me?"

Patently not liking it, Casey complied. Zeke balanced himself on one elbow and leaned down to touch his lips to Casey's in a brief, soft caress. Casey did not move, did not return the kiss, did not so much as breathe. All of his body was rigid – except for the one part of him that Zeke would have liked to see rigid.

"Case..." Zeke whispered. "I was thinking... I'd like to do a little more than sleep. But there would have to be... guidelines."

Casey's gaze shifted so he was looking up at Zeke.

Zeke set down, "I don't want you to do anything. You don't have to come. You don't have to do anything to make me come. I would just like to... to touch you. Okay?"

Casey gave a single, very faint nod, even as his eyes shimmered with liquid fear and his body began to shake with fine tremors. Zeke put his mouth on Casey's, gently kissing lips that quivered under his. "Shh..." Zeke soothed. "Shh... no fear... we won't be afraid..." It was invocation, it was meditation; not really expected to work, not this time. It didn't work either – but at least Casey's shaking eased a little and he finally returned the kiss. It was not especially deep or long, just a gentle yielding of two partially opened mouths, but it was one of the most potent things Zeke had ever felt. The tremble and movement of Casey's lips had the power to summon a hot and cold quaking in Zeke's gut. His body insisted that something hurt, yet it was a wondrous kind of hurt, it was this euphoria all through him.

Zeke said quietly, "I'm going to touch you now."

It was tough to know where to start. He decided on the join of neck and collarbone, putting his hand there and tracing the graceful line with a finger and then his thumb... then trying it with the back of his hand and the tips of his fingers, learning how silk felt under different kinds of touch. His thumb strayed into the hollow of the throat and for a while he was completely lost in tactile fascination with the shape of Casey's neck and jaw, the multitude of exquisite angles and curves drawn in human flesh.

Such pure design had to be experienced with more than one of his senses, all of them if at all possible. He delved into that same place with lips and tongue, spending a long time in that place. When he strayed from there to the snug shell of Casey's ear, Casey suddenly made a noise and moved on the bed, his neck stretching up, head arching away inviting Zeke to continue his ministrations there. Zeke explored the entire expanse of flesh from his ear down to his shoulder. There were some – mostly healed -- marks there. Zeke kissed them and smoothed them with his hand, trying to erase them the only way he could.

He returned his gaze to Casey's eyes, checking in. Casey looked shattered, he had to be needing a break from the intensity so Zeke stopped everything and just held him, lining up their bodies. He let Casey put his face against his shoulder and they stayed that way for a while. Gradually Casey's body warmed against his, and Zeke's desire to continue his sensory explorations began to clamour and shout. He didn't care what happened now as long as he could feed the hunger in all of his senses with something of Casey.

"More now," Zeke whispered. "Okay?"

He thought he got some sort of affirmative. He twisted, bringing Casey almost on top of him. In that new position Zeke was free to run his hands up and down Casey's back in broad, worshipful sweeps, plying the backs and sides of his hands to discover the different angles.... spine, shoulder blades, the depression of the lower back. His hands were dipping a little lower each time and he was holding his breath a bit because he wasn't sure what he would feel. Finally his hands were tracing the firm curve of Casey's ass.

Casey sucked a breath suddenly when Zeke made contact with his buttocks. He parted his legs a bit and undulated once against Zeke, slowly, pushing a stiffening cock against Zeke's. His mouth opened against Zeke's shoulder, wet and soft and saying something that wasn't to be heard. "Casey..." Zeke breathed in reply. "Casey... Case..." He had Casey's ass cupped firmly in both hands but did not move otherwise, luxuriating in the fact of Casey writhing against him. The sensations emanating from between his legs were all he knew --

Abruptly, Casey sat up on Zeke, his ass resting against Zeke's cock that was jutting up like a pole. He grabbed Zeke's hand and and worked three fingers one after another in his mouth, laving them generously. Each play of suction siphoned some last measure of control out of Zeke.

Zeke took his hand away from Casey. Casey looked at him in surprised hurt.

"That's against the rules," Zeke said.

"I want you to – "

"I know what you want. I'm not ready for that." He tried to soften his words, but even so, Casey began to shake again. "Come here... beside me," Zeke requested.

Casey settled next to him, pillowing his head on Zeke's right arm. Zeke caressed Casey's overgrown hair, trying to look through his eyes into his centre, and then holding Casey's eyes, he took Casey's penis in his hand. It was only semi-hard and already losing its erection. Zeke just held him at first, getting used to the idea that he was holding some else's penis, and it was surprisingly easy. Then he stroked gently, in no hurry to do anything, just absorbing the sensations in his hand. Even when Casey was completely flaccid he didn't cease his motions.

"There's no point," Casey whispered around a sob. "Stop."

"There is... I want to. Does it feel bad?"

Casey sighed dismally. "No."

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes," came the whisper.

"So."

Casey surrendered and rested his head against Zeke's chest. After a moment he turned his head and laid his cheek flat. His breath was a pleasant torment across Zeke's stomach. Zeke had never felt so aroused and at the same time content to do absolutely nothing about it. His previous encounters had always followed a predictable plot, all action, straight to climax with a brief denouement.

Time passed unmeasured and Casey had become very still, breathing slowly and evenly, his body slack. Zeke realized he had fallen asleep, his head lying on Zeke's chest while Zeke held him in his hand.

It was the single greatest achievement of Zeke's sexual career.

 

For the first time since leaving Herrington, Casey knew where he was when he woke up. He was with Zeke, who was lined up behind him, all along his backside, stubbly chin prickling at Casey's neck. He was with Zeke --

– Zeke who had only touched him for about an hour last night and didn't want him to do anything and didn't care if neither of them got anything out of it and Casey didn't know what had happened. He didn't understand. That couldn't be what Zeke wanted. Zeke wouldn't stick around if it was just Zeke servicing Casey – that being a waste of his time anyway.

Zeke was stirring, shifting position a little. Casey sensed the moment when he woke up, even with his back to him. He didn't know how to be face-to-face with Zeke now. He lay very still hoping Zeke would think he was asleep.

"Case," Zeke said around a yawn. "I can tell you're awake."

"H - how?"

"I can hear you thinking."

Momentarily distracted by an intriguing notion, Casey asked, "Really?"

"Kinda," came Zeke's hiss against his neck. Zeke placed the hand that was in the vicinity over Casey's chest. "You get all tense. And your heart's going. What are you thinking about?"

Casey knew he should try to be straightforward because that was what Zeke appreciated. "Could I... I'd like to do something for you?" he asked, and was careful not to make any sort of overt move even though it would have been so easy, the way they were lying together.

Zeke got still and silent. Casey thought after last night surely Zeke wouldn't turn him down –

"Thanks, but no thanks. I will take a kiss though."

"Haven't brushed my teeth," Casey muttered.

His body filled up with the mad drug that he hadn't felt for a couple of days and had thought maybe was used up. But not used up, nowhere near depleted... it was coursing through him at full strength. He wanted to scream at Zeke....You want to make me feel safe, you want to give me strength to exist in this place? Show me that you want me, just once, just fucking once. He knew that it was pointless though, just like anger about it was pointless. He was the one who was fucked-up in the head, he was supposed to take what he could get just like he took his pills every day, even if he didn't understand it and it frightened him it was supposed to be just the right prescription. He was the last person to say what was the right medicine for him.

"Neither have I," Zeke answered him. "Let's swap some morning breath." Zeke had raised himself up and was looming over Casey. Casey refused to look up at him. Zeke knuckled his cheek, making it tickle maddeningly, and Casey scrunched up his shoulders trying to brush him off. Zeke then attempted to pull him by his shoulder.

"Let me go!" he growled, hunching and scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could get.

After a shocked pause, Zeke said in bewilderment, "Okay."

Casey let himself fall on his back so Zeke could see his face. "I don't want a kiss," he declared. "I don't want you to touch me and look at me, I want you to fuck me. I know I'm hideous and I can't feel much... but I could make you feel good if you let me." He drew a single line from Zeke's chin, straight down his chest and belly, and as his fingers brushed Zeke's protruding and yet unsatisfied erection, he demanded, very soft, "When are you going to fuck me, Zeke?"

Zeke spun away and sat on the edge of the bed with his back to Casey. "Not today," he choked.

Casey heard himself say, "Well, if you won't I'm sure someone else will."

"I'm not having this conversation. You're not yourself right now and I'm not listening."

"I am myself, have you ever thought about that? This is me, this thing right now, it feels... it feels right and there's nothing you can do to make it stop –"

Zeke stood up quickly, turning for a moment to stare at Casey. Right before Zeke walked out, Casey caught an expression on Zeke's face that he had never seen before. It was pain, not mixed with anger or outrage, nothing but pain. "I'll be in the shower," was all Zeke said.

It took only moments for the last dregs of his artificial freedom to abandon him and then he was scrambling for his travel bag, looking for clothes. He pulled on three layers, one after the other, two shirts and a sweater and jeans and he wanted to bury himself under the covers too and never rise from there.

Some things were beginning to be clear. Some things were rising up out of the muck with voices like bells. Like he was going to destroy Zeke and he somehow had to find the courage to rescue Zeke from him. He should be able to love Zeke but he couldn't, he had no idea how to. He was terrified every time Zeke tried to show him anything real. All he knew, all that was real to him, were the feelings between him and Roy. It was Roy who would take him if he offered. It was Roy that Casey in his fucked-up perfection was perfectly suited for.

He didn't need that balled up piece of paper in his backpack – he knew all of Roy's numbers by heart – but he wanted it. It felt good and terrible and sickening and safe to take it out and hold it. He sat on the bed facing the windows, clutching it in his hand. It tiny and white and would probably shred if he opened it.

Holding that little bit of paper, he envisioned himself in the old place, Roy's apartment. It was so very silent there and he was waiting, waiting, maybe for weeks he would be waiting but at least it was quiet and no one else would ever come in or expect anything from him. He would be alone unless and until Roy came and then it would be time to feel, to perform and... oh god, he didn't want to be there, he didn't want to be with him but what else did he have, what the fuck else was he good for?

He didn't want to be with Roy. He just wanted it to be over.

There came a gentle touch on his shoulder and a weight on the bed beside him. Without a word Zeke put an arm around him.

But he did have one wholesome thought in him. There was something he feared more than any of the other multitude of fears that polluted him, and that was that he would damage Zeke. Just about anything he wanted to do would damage Zeke now. If he tried to make Zeke touch him the way he wanted, he would damage him. If he just – left – he would damage him. If he were to call Roy, go to Roy... major damage. Zeke had given so much and worked so hard to change himself for Casey. Zeke was brilliant and beautiful and he had a future. The only good outcome of this that Casey could see would be to try to endure as he was until Zeke had enough of him and got away intact, maybe some months down the road. Then, finally, Casey would be able to disappear.

Casey said, "I hate being like this."

Zeke sighed. "I know."

"I don't want to anymore."

"Maybe you can't see it, Case, but you've improved so much in the past week. What happened just now... it is wrong and it will stop."

"I'm – sorry, Zeke," Casey got out with difficulty, and he was, for the whole disaster that he was and that he inflicted on his friends. "I... hope you'll forgive me."

Zeke almost spoke, thought a bit, said, "I do forgive you, Case. Okay?" He leaned in hesitantly.

Casey let Zeke kiss him, in wonderment that Zeke could want to touch him again.

Now Zeke was studying him, frowning. "What have you got in your hand?" he asked.

"My – my pill. Was – going – to – " he gulped. He couldn't talk, couldn't finish the lie. "Was going to – "

"Hey." Zeke pulled him into his arms. "What is this now?"

"Zeke –"

"What is it?

"Zeke... I..."

"It's okay, Case... just talk."

"I need a... glass of water."

"Okay," Zeke said, evidently puzzling at Casey's hysteria over something so minor. "I'll go – "

"No. I want to – I'll get it –"

He stumbled out of the room and to the bathroom, much like the morning before. He shut the door and ran the water until it was good and cold and avoided looking in the mirror as he filled a glass. For a long while he left it sitting balanced on the sink while he stared down at his hands, at his clenched, trembling fist.

Finally he gazed at his reflection. He didn't know who or what he was looking at.

Do you know how crazy you are right now?

Not exactly, no...

Watch and see.

He put the rolled up bit of paper in his mouth and swallowed. It went down like a lead pellet and he had to drink the entire glass of water to force it down. Terror made him shudder, made his stomach spasm and threaten to expel the intruder but he kept drinking water until it was full and heavy, a weight lying still, hard and solid inside him.

They said he was a hero for slaying an alien queen but they didn't know shit about it. They had no idea. He was no hero, wasn't then, wasn't now. Then, as now, he was just too scared to do anything but keep on exactly as he was.


	10. Chapter 10

"You realize that it's raining."

Zeke sounded unhappy -- and with reason. Casey felt a slight trickle of water down his cheeks as he blinked and revisited the wicker chair that he was sitting in and the white metal table, and the shrubs surrounding him. He must have been sitting out here for a while. Zeke would have contentedly closed his eyes last night with Casey no more than an arm's length away, and wakened to no Casey at all, because he had crept out of their bed while Zeke still slept and gone up to the roof to get half-soaked. The cushion he was sitting on was damp, a fact that Casey had barely noticed when he sat down, and there was a film of moisture on the table in front of him. The morning was one of fog and mist, and a faint drizzle that had separated Casey's hair into lank chunks that were now getting between him and clear vision, but he hadn't really noticed that. Nor had he noticed that he was shivering in his brand new zip-up fleece that Zeke had bought for him two days ago, which was now almost soaked through.

Then there was the cityscape that Casey had not been seeing either, the downtown core with the mountains laid out behind it. What he had seen, what he had fixated upon instead, was Zeke's ashtray. It was overflowing with butts and caked ash. Lately, Zeke had been smoking a lot more; his kisses were well-seasoned by Benson & Hedges, and it tasted good because that was how Zeke tasted, but Casey would have rather seen Zeke find some other way to vent that didn't shorten his lifespan.

Obviously, venting was a necessity. If Zeke weren't with Casey, his new life in Seattle would be different, better. There wouldn't have to be so much strain and stress all the time. Zeke wouldn't have to panic, jolting awake to find Casey gone. After all, most people got out of bed in the morning and did routine things... brushing their teeth, taking a piss, a shower, a walk. Some people even walked as far as the coffee shop at the corner, drawn by that aroma given off by the roasting of twenty-two custom blends. Some people picked up fresh coffee to surprise their friends who were still trying to shake off sleep back at home. Some people let their lovers sleep in and lounged in the living room for a while, cracking open a book to while away some time before the day started – but Casey had yet to leave the apartment by himself, and he hadn't been reading because he couldn't focus long enough to get through anything but the t.v. listings.

So routine meant something else for Zeke; for the last eight days that they had been living here and the three before that at Stokely's place, the morning had found Casey snuggled body-to-body with him. Casey didn't know how much sleep Zeke was getting. All he knew was that both Zeke and Sasha wore blue smudges on their faces, and it was probably all his fault.

"Oh," Casey said, for lack of any real explanation for being too stupid to come in from the rain. He hugged his body – which was a mistake because his fleece was clammy and uncomfortable. He sneezed. "Sorry, Zeke."

"Sorry?" Zeke put a hand on Casey's shoulder, wanting him to stand up, to come inside. "Don't apologize to me, you're the one who's sitting out here in nothing but your shorts."

"But I made you worry."

Zeke didn't answer that; this worry had to be a drop in one monster-sized bucket. "I think a shower is in order," he counselled.

"Yeah," Casey said compliantly, teeth chattering. But he resisted the pressure to get moving. There was something he had to say. He had spent days full of dread about it, had gone to bed chewing on it, and he had come up here right after waking up to think about how one approached spitting it out.

"Maybe... " Zeke said tentatively. "We could shower together?"

Zeke in the shower with him was something new. To date, Zeke had not made any attempt to invade his private sanctuary, although Casey had an indistinct memory of having invited him into it a few times. "Okay, but Zeke – "

"Can we go inside, please?" Zeke insisted. These days, his voice had a certain tone in it: Not quite impatient, still hanging on to his composure, but with a thread of something less tolerant woven in.

"I – I have to tell you something."

Zeke's brows rose. "How about you tell me inside?"

It wasn't Casey's preference. He had prepared for it here, he had envisioned it, gotten himself revved up for it here. But he should have no trouble with a few simple words, he had practised them enough... I've decided... I'm not going... . Just like that. And if he went inside then maybe Zeke would lose that edge in his voice and it would be easier.

Casey got up willingly and let Zeke escort him down the short staircase to the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes, as per Sasha's household decree, and Zeke did the same, absently sliding his arms around Casey to still his quivering.

"Agh, you're freezing, Case! We really should get in that shower now." Zeke winged a look at the clock on the microwave and Casey remembered that they were meeting Stokely for breakfast. "It's okay, there's tons of time before we have to be at the diner."

Tons of time before breakfast at nine, but a split second before he had to go see the doctor at eleven. He pulled back from Zeke figuring Zeke wouldn't want to hug him in another moment and took to hugging himself again, trying to conserve precious units of body heat. He forced it out: "Zeke – Idonwannnago."

"For breakfast?" Zeke asked, then pursed his mouth as he understood. "Oh. The doctor. Of course."

"I don't want to," Casey said.

"We've discussed this, Case." Zeke sounded greatly fatigued. "It's necessary."

"It's – it's my decision." It was more than a little disconcerting to hear this point move from his inner jabber to a place where Zeke could actually hear it. Casey was dangling without safety lines now, because Zeke would say Something In Response and then he would be expected to say Something Else Back but none of it was scripted. Anything could get said. Dangerous things, things that there could be no recovery from once they got out there.

Zeke, being Zeke, did not appear at all concerned, but Casey could almost hear his brain shift up into a higher gear. "Yes," Zeke replied serenely, examining Casey as though he were some bizarre zoological anomaly that had been discovered suddenly in his kitchen. "It is your decision. But I thought you had decided to agree with me and Sasha on this. Hell, Casey... you know you need to go." Sealing the logic trap with a little emotional glue, Zeke placed his hands on Casey's shoulders. "It won't be like the last time, Case, I promise."

See, this was why it didn't pay to Say Things, because now the creature that sometimes controlled his mouth took over and spat whatever unkind nonsense it could dredge up. "Why? Oh, right – because Aunt Charly told you."

Zeke's eyes darkened but he didn't let himself react otherwise. Instead, he turned Casey around and prodded him down the hall to the bathroom. "If that's how you want to see it, go right ahead," he allowed. "All that happened was I asked her to recommend a doctor – a good doctor. Besides, this appointment's going to be a breeze, Casey. The doctor'll just check you out, ask you how it's going with the pills, tell you to eat more, and make sure you go to therapy. Nothing to it."

Zeke closed the door to the bathroom behind them.

"Sorry," Casey muttered when Zeke turned to look at him.

"It's okay." Zeke was approaching him, taking care not to make any sudden moves.

"I'm not that cracked, I know... I have to go. I do know, I'm just – " Casey almost laughed at the word he was about to use. Alert the media... Casey Connor is scared. Like he ever needed to say that word out loud.

"I know," Zeke replied, his voice softening. "Let's get you out of these wet things." His fingers traced Casey's jaw and continued on their way, unzipping Casey's fleece while he said, "I understand you feeling a bit nervous about this, Case, I would feel the same. Is that what you were doing up there, just getting good and worked up about it?"

Sometimes there was nothing to compare to Zeke. Sometimes, like now, he would have Casey shivering just from being in his presence. One of Zeke's many gifts was a knack for taking charge, for wielding power with a magnificent gentleness, casually brushing off Casey's attempts to self-destruct... like he was doing now.

Casey nodded, shrugging out of the fleece, letting it fall into a damp puddle on the floor. His shivers traded up to shudders, and he sneezed again. "I –" Sneeze. "Didn't want to wake you up."

"Case, I've told you, I'd rather you woke me up than be scared by yourself." Zeke bit his lip and made a worried face. That he could be so masterful and then suddenly so uncertain only intensified Casey's admiration for him. "I should go with you to the doctor."

"You h-have a class."

"I'll give it a miss."

"Don't, Zeke," Casey implored. He feared Zeke giving up his class times, on top of everything else he gave up for Casey. Zeke would come to resent him, or maybe he did already, and all that remained after that was for Zeke to hate him.

"It's just one day..." Zeke said.

Casey attempted to sound playful, saying, "But you d-don't want – a rep – repeat – of – of high s-school." The jibe was spoiled by his chattering teeth. His lips must be blue by now.

"Oh, sure," Zeke returned. "Remind me of my past failings."

Stupid... he was so stupid! "I – I didn't mean it –"

Zeke pressed his thumb to Casey's trembling, cold lips. "Just teasing, Case. But you're right – I shouldn't be skipping class this early on."

So good of Zeke to always find a way to rescue the conversation... Over and over, moment after moment tainted by Casey and redeemed by Zeke.

"Come on," Zeke said softly. "Let's hop in the shower for a bit, okay?" He used his thumb to gently smooth the tremors from Casey's mouth, his gaze wandering momentarily, travelling across Casey's face and down the front of his raggedy old X-Files t-shirt, mouth twisting up a bit at the shirt's obstinate refusal to understand that the truth was not, in fact, out there.

Casey wasn't really sure what Zeke was seeing when he looked at him that way; all he knew was that Zeke looked at him often, and long. So Zeke did want him – Casey no longer needed to question that, not that wanting of that sort was a reliable predictor of future satisfaction. People found all sorts of ways to talk themselves out of what they wanted, and Zeke was no exception.

At the very least, Zeke looking at Casey meant that Casey had plenty of opportunity to look at Zeke. He watched as Zeke's calendar-ideal torso emerged, then the powerful legs, and of course his cock, heavy with arousal. Casey had gotten used to seeing it, and of course he encountered it constantly when they were in bed together, but was never able to do anything about it. Casey wasn't allowed to touch it, the guidelines were strict on that point just as they set it down that Zeke could touch Casey as much as he wanted, and never mind that his body just didn't work, Zeke still kept trying and Casey sometimes thought he would scream at him to stop... Just stop that already and bury yourself inside me but Casey had come on to Zeke at the wrong moment too many times, so why should Zeke actually believe that Casey craved that release, that sensation of being filled and possessed? He longed to be sure of one damned thing, and one of these days he was going to erupt with You want me to say it's sick, yeah, okay, it's sick but I want you to make me feel safe I know you care I know you want me to feel good... It can be this easy--

"Casey?" Zeke interrupted his silent raving. "Come on in, the water's fine."

Zeke was standing inside the shower stall and looking at Casey in that way he did, so kind, so understanding and Casey needed needed needed he never stopped needing that kindness from Zeke except now and then that persistent, unceasing understanding made him want to howl. So strange the thoughts that would come and sometimes he even said them out loud but this time he didn't, he only thought to himself You think you're going to break me but you're not.

The water was just at that point of scalding his numbed skin; Zeke frowned at his slight recoil from it and adjusted the temperature slightly. Then Zeke had his arms around Casey, and he was such a sluttish, weak creature that he forgot everything and just dug into what he craved and yes, Zeke could invade him with empathy as much as he wanted just so long as he could hide his eyes against Zeke's broad chest – and it did feel nice when Zeke stroked his back and shoulders and neck, plying the moist tips of his fingers against Casey's skin, stimulating a pleasant, prickling warmth over his body. When Casey twitched and jumped with nerves, those hands soothed him... Such large hands they were, so much in charge of themselves. He swayed against Zeke, soaking in the steam and wet and the length and weight and heat along his thigh.

"Warm now?" Zeke murmured, his voice strained.

"Mmm."

"Case? You with me?" Zeke tickled his neck.

He scrunched his shoulder up against it. "Hypnotized."

"Oh, I see – " Zeke's breath caught as Casey swayed again, unintentionally bumping certain parts of him that were hyper-sensitive. "You're – really tense."

"Yeah," Casey sighed.

"I'm not licensed but I have been told that I give a deadly massage."

Casey opened his eyes and looked up and up into Zeke's, seeing things there on the verge of boiling over. Zeke was panting just slightly.

"You're tense, too," Casey said softly.

Zeke brought him in tighter to his chest, where Casey could feel and hear the violently throbbing organ within him. "I don't like you going to the doctor without me."

Were they still following Zeke's guidelines? Casey rocked ever so slightly, felt Zeke tremble, heard him say nothing. Was Zeke no longer following the rules? Was he changing them? Casey didn't know what was happening. The normal pattern was, he came on to Zeke, Zeke exhibited his usual degree of discipline, Casey withdrew and resigned himself to another hour or day of being the broken toy that Zeke took to bed with him. Not this slow two-step like it was closing time in a club, people clinging to each other and grinding with a subtle friction. Not this –

Zeke suddenly grabbed him by the shoulders as preparatory to pushing him back but it was too late; he let out a strangled cry, spilling himself on Casey's leg.

"Oh, fuck," Zeke gasped. "I didn't mean for that to... fuck." He raised his eyes, flinging them away before Casey could get a really good, solid look but it was long enough for him to see something in Zeke that he didn't like, something that scared him. It was shame.

"It's my fault," Casey said quickly. "I – I was moving and I'm not supposed to."

"Casey," Zeke rasped. "Don't you dare try to blame yourself." Still his gaze was averted, his visage one of utter misery.

Casey reached for the nearest washcloth and cleaned himself off, hoping to wipe away Zeke's shame somehow, but it was rather too late, wasn't it? It was not far from shame to hatred, after all, and Zeke would be hating Casey someday very soon. No, he didn't hate Casey just yet. For now, he would only be hating what Casey put him through, resenting Casey for forcing him to bottle himself up until he exploded. He would make a point of not blaming Casey, he would hold himself responsible, but over time his bitterness would leach into everything and force him to wonder if this relationship was really worth poisoning himself.

Zeke had rested his head back against the tiles. "I.. I don't know how to do this," he muttered.

Or maybe it was happening sooner than Casey thought – and guess what? He wasn't ready. Actually, he was a manipulative coward who just liked to wallow in whatever tragic demise he was turning over in his head this week. A river of piteous words bubbled up... sorry I do stupid things like go out in the rain and sorry I'm so fucked-up we can't fuck like normal people and sorry I'm constantly on your heels always waiting for you at the door when you get back from school and making you feel guilty about wanting to spend time with sane people or even maybe a couple of hours in the library... I ruin everything.

"Casey?" Zeke said suddenly, lifting his head. "That didn't come out right."

Waiting for judgment, Casey could barely feel the hot water on his skin. "You're not leaving?"

"Not this century." Zeke stooped a little, and rested his forehead against Casey's. "It's just that – that I don't know what I'm doing."

Casey made himself swallow the first thing he thought of to say, and the second, and the third. Finally, he came up with a line that he thought would be acceptable. "I think you need a massage a lot more than I do."

Zeke chuckled, and was himself again. "I think you're right. But we don't have time now, we need to get dressed and go to breakfast."

"I could give you one later."

Zeke considered this, his eyes dark and serious. "I would have to amend the guidelines slightly, but otherwise I say bring it on." He kissed Casey tenderly, and sighed. "But I still don't like this plan where I'm sitting in a stupid lecture hall while you're at the doctor's office."

"Sasha'll– "

"Sasha's not me. Will he tear apart anyone who looked at you sideways? Will he rip the doctor a new one if she isn't nice to you? I don't think so."

"Which is why it's probably better if Sasha comes with me," Casey said. To his own ears he sounded just determined enough, and this time he pulled off the playful that he had wanted to be a little while ago.

He was such a liar.

 

"Happy now?" Stokely was asking of Zeke.

Zeke did not glance up from his in-depth study of the menu of the Bayside Diner. He said mildly, "They have fifteen kinds of omelettes and four kinds of toast and all the pork you could ever want... what's not to be happy about?"

"And after I slaved over a stove to give you healthy breakfasts," Stokely retorted, rolling her eyes as though she hadn't been totally keen to get them to this place to try the breakfast menu. She had promised that it would live up to all of Zeke's worst habits. "I'm wounded."

"Zeke doesn't like any food that doesn't clog his arteries," Sasha drawled. He elbowed Casey, who was sitting next to him in their booth, sandwiched between him and the wall. "And this one's not much better. His favourite food is bacon-and-egg pasta."

"Ugh!" was Stokely's comment.

"It's a classic, actually," Sasha maintained loftily.

"A classic what?"

"Italian dish," Sasha replied. "And speaking of Italian dishes... check out that guy behind the counter."

Zeke smirked. "If anyone would know about dishing, it's you."

Only half-listening to them natter, Casey was preoccupied with watching Stokely; to his eyes she looked weary and unhappy, her previous healthful glow significantly dimmed. That had to be about Stan, who had not been present at the housewarming dinner that Sasha had cooked a Thursday ago, nor that last Saturday when Stokely came over to watch some movies with them. When Casey had asked Zeke about Stan, Zeke had growled and told him not to worry about it. Casey hadn't felt up to mentioning it again – not just yet.

The Italian dish turned out to be their waiter. He came to take their order and pretended he didn't notice Sasha's appreciative ogling. Zeke ordered enough breakfast for everyone at the table, then looked expectantly at his companions to find out what they were going to eat. He nodded approvingly when Casey ordered waffles with strawberries and whipped cream. Casey had long since learned that there was really no point to trying to protest that his stomach felt queasy; it would not be heard. He kept his head down with his coffee cup, trying to brace himself for eating.

"So how's the job search going, Sasha?" Stokely asked.

Sasha pressed a hand to his brow and sighed dramatically. "Not so groovy. But I have an interview this afternoon and I have a very good feeling about it."

"When this afternoon?" Zeke asked sharply.

"At two."

"You didn't tell me it was at two."

Sasha was unrepentant. "No, I didn't, did I?"

"I have class until three and Stokely works until six."

"You have a point here, I presume."

Zeke scowled. He glanced at Stokely, apparently not wanting to humiliate Casey in front of her, not that it wasn't already too late. It wasn't exactly a stretch to read Zeke's mind. With travelling time factored in, Casey would be alone for at least a couple of hours – that was, assuming he lived through the doctor appointment. Left to himself, he might drown in the shower or accidentally throw himself off the building's roof.

"I'll be okay, Zeke," Casey said. "I won't go anywhere."

"I know that... " Zeke was squirming. "But this is different."

Sasha said, "For god's sake, Zeke, loosen the leash a little." But he and Zeke launched into one of their silent conversations that concluded with an understanding, probably something to the effect that Sasha would assess Casey's condition after the appointment and if he was really agitated, Sasha wouldn't go to his interview. He would just forego having a job.

Casey spoke up, his voice ringing a bit loud in his own ears, "It isn't like I'll fall into a fatal trance. You two go on and have a life." He was appalled by how bitter he sounded. He wasn't, not at all – they were the ones who must be resenting him. He scrubbed his forehead and stumbled on, much quieter this time, "I don't want to be the reason that you miss things."

With a squeeze of Casey's shoulder, Sasha said, "I just don't like to leave you stuck in that apartment."

"I like the apartment."

"That's not the issue," Zeke declared.

Casey turned his attention to the vintage juke box on their table, the same kind that was on every table in every booth. He started reading the list of songs, turning the knob and watching the page flip over to a fresh bunch of selections.

"Could you pop in once or twice maybe, Stokes?" he heard Zeke ask.

Casey stole a look at Stokely and saw that she was examining her hands. He knew he had terrified her that night when he had his little episode. In fact, it had to be exhausting for all of them dealing with those sort of histrionics, so it wasn't exactly fair to claim the right to be alone when his being alone would just make it harder on his caretakers.

"Sure, Zeke," Stokely answered. "If that's okay with you, Case."

He met her eyes, finding himself grateful to her. "It's fine," he said.

The Italian dish soon presented Casey with a platter containing two waffles the size and thickness of physics textbooks, topped with a mountain of strawberries and slathered with cream. He began to chip away at it, despairing of satisfying the Food Police. Oh, they were subtle about it, but they had gotten to be experts in surveillance without seeming to be watching him. Even Stokely was beginning to catch on to the technique. Casey had no memory of eating strawberries and whipped cream before with so little enjoyment. He couldn't taste any of it, and the cream actually was making him feel nauseous.

He glanced up, saw Stokely watching him, grinning. "Good, huh?" she said.

"Yummy," he agreed, lying some more.

 

The thought occurred to Zeke while he shovelled down his eggs and monitored Casey: He's not exactly in the habit of telling the truth. That hadn't really bothered Zeke to date, but it did now for some reason. Maybe because a bottle of pills was now giving Casey the resources to carry it off on occasion, whereas before it was so pitifully obvious one could hardly call it lying.

But then, he wasn't much better himself. Zeke had been working so hard to put on an encouraging face for Casey, to get him pumped for his doctor visit, that he could deny to himself right up until this moment that he was more than a wee bit apprehensive. None of Casey's recent encounters with doctors had been very empowering, so even if Zeke's head knew that it was ridiculous, his gut feared what this new one might be able to do to Casey. Sure, Casey ate and slept and acted non-suicidal, yet Zeke had moments of sheer terror when he observed Casey and saw the shadows, the distance, or when he thought about the fact that Casey refused to leave the apartment unless in his or Sasha's company, and even then reluctantly and only briefly.

Even worse, this new doctor might ask for all of the notes and charts of the doctors in Herrington, including Anthony-fucking-Spadoni's. Zeke had tried to prepare Casey for this possibility, running through the range possible questions and responses with him. For all he knew, though, Spadoni had slipped Casey some sort of generic release form when he was barely aware of what he was doing and Casey might very well have signed it.

On top of all this Zeke was in the position of having to rely on someone else's judgment, a someone whom he would rather not have trusted at all.

The Tuesday after Labour Day, Zeke had turned his mind to the doctor-therapist question. Reluctant to just pick them at random from the phone book, he had tried asking Stokely first if she had any suggestions, but of course she had only one: Ask Charly. It made too much sense to ignore so he asked for Charly's phone number and called her himself despite Stokely's offer to do it on Casey's behalf. He needed to control whatever relationship that woman might with Casey; unwillingly and a bit hurt, Stokely had understood.

On the phone, Charly had suggested that they talk in person for some reason. Zeke was about to refuse when it occurred to him that he had an opportunity to find out what, if anything, the woman wanted from them. Mostly, he wanted to be face-to-face with her while he was delivering smackdown. So he had agreed to meet her in a cafe near the Chronicle building.

She had gotten herself a huge lunch of hot beef sandwich with fries and gravy, milk, and pie, and was unfazed at Zeke's refusal of her offer to get him something. Seeing her there brought home once again how very much she resembled Stan, which immediately made Zeke feel hostile – well, more hostile.

"So, Zeke," she began, not wasting a moment. If he didn't dislike her so much, he would have appreciated her conciseness. "You mentioned you needed a favour."

"Yes," he admitted, and struggled to find a way to get the words out. He settled on, "I was wondering if you could recommend a doctor. You're the only person I know to ask here."

"And that would be why you're sitting here looking like you have a mouthful of glass?" Charly was consuming her lunch with dispatch as she spoke, not exactly slovenly, but not entirely with pristine manners either. "Are you sick?"

Zeke bit down on the snarling retort he wanted to deliver. "It's for Casey, and... if there's any way you could make it happen quickly I'd be – well, it would be a help."

"I see."

Suspicion flared. "Oh, really. What exactly do you see?"

Charly put down her fork long enough to answer. "I see a couple of things. One, you must really care for your friend to be asking me for help, and two, I'd be risking dismemberment I dared to comment on anything else I happen to observe."

Zeke made an effort to be civil. "Look, I'm sure you're a decent person and all that, I just don't want you talking to anyone about Casey, especially if it has to do with aliens."

"What makes you think I would do that?"

"You certainly made free with your opinions the other day."

"I apologize for that. If I'd had any idea he was that fragile, I wouldn't have said anything."

"He's not – " Zeke shut himself up before he could complete the denial; lying to this woman would just weaken him in front of her. "Will you help me find a doctor or not?"

"Of course I'll help." Resuming eating, Charly inquired casually, "Any particular kind of doctor?"

Where she couldn't see it, Zeke clenched his hands. "A psychiatrist – or, a doctor and some kind of therapist, I guess."

Charly didn't so much as blink; she didn't even stop chewing. "I know a doctor. She's not a psychiatrist but she's very good. She'd probably make room for Casey in her calendar if I ask her, and I'll see what I can do about the therapist."

"Will I like this doctor?" Zeke asked pointedly.

"I have no idea. I do know she's an excellent doctor, and her bedside manner is nothing like mine, if that's what's worrying you."

"In a word... yes."

With a slightly rueful shrug, Charly dug into her pie. "May I have your phone number, so as to call you with the info?"

"We don't have a phone number yet. You can leave a message with Stokely though."

"That works. Do you mind if I ask you for a few details about Casey, just so I can be a little persuasive when I talk to my friend?"

Just when Zeke had begun to relax in this woman's presence, she said something to set him off. He snapped, "I don't think that's necessary."

"So you want me to phone her up and beg for an appointment right away and when she asks me why, I say... what?"

"Okay," Zeke gritted, begrudgingly allowing her point. "He was hospitalized for depression recently. He got out of the hospital two weeks ago. He's on medication and he has panic attacks. Enough detail for you?"

"More than," replied Charly quietly, and it seemed like she was trying to sound gracious, but he didn't want to notice it. "Is it related to –"

"Do not go there," Zeke said. "In fact, the only reason I asked you for your help was so I could say this to you in person: I don't want you talking to anyone about aliens. No references to Time magazine or follow-up articles – in fact, I don't want you talking to anyone about Casey at all, and that includes Stokely. The only other person who's going to know about the aliens is Casey's therapist – if he wants to tell them."

Charly looked pensive; she opened her mouth –

"Please," Zeke emphasized, in a tone that was not really asking.

"I wouldn't have said anything, Zeke, I do have some discretion. But don't you think it's pertinent?"

"Maybe, but it's for Casey and me to deal with ourselves. So I'm asking you... not to bring it up anymore in front of me or Casey if we should happen to be in the same space again, which I'm sure we will."

Charly shrugged. "I can do that. And I do hope that we'll be in the same space, as you put it. I'd still like to have you all for dinner some time."

"Why?"

"Because that's what older aunts do."

"We don't need you keeping an eye on us."

"I hardly thought otherwise. Just trying to come up with reasons why I might want to do something nice for you kids, but you shot me right down, didn't you?

Zeke felt a rising sense of remorse for his behaviour to this woman, who really didn't seem to be after anything except to act upon a sincere desire to be useful – but he squelched it before it could develop any further.

"How old are you, Zeke?" she asked him unexpectedly.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Honestly? Because when you speak I have trouble imagining you to be under the age of forty-five."

"Um... gee, thanks."

"I think you're quite remarkable. That's all I'm saying."

Zeke narrowed his eyes, looking for ulterior motives. "I had to grow up early."

"Because of the aliens?"

"No. Not everything of me and Casey is about the aliens. I'm going to go now. Thank you for your help." Zeke stood up, feeling curiously off-balance. Charly attempted a handshake, and he accepted it. On his way out he had another thought that he didn't want to have: For a woman, she was refreshingly straightforward.

She was also extremely competent. That afternoon Stokely got a call from a Dr. Chakri with an appointment for Casey the following week, and the names of two therapists who were known for being exceptionally successful in treating anxiety disorders. Zeke had called both offices and simply took the therapist who was available sooner – still not until September 30th. The therapist's name was Helen Yves, but Charly knew nothing else about her except that the doctor had recommended her highly.

Casey's reaction when Zeke informed him of the dates of his appointments had been interesting to say the least. A range of expressions had crossed his face, one after the other... slightly angry... slightly afraid... utter betrayal...something unrecognizable... really scared now... finally settling on completely bewildered.

"What?" Zeke had said. "Case... you have to see someone."

"I... thought it could wait," Casey had said faintly.

"Wait?" Zeke had been incredulous. "How could it possibly wait?" He had thought, but didn't say, I don't like to see you hurting, get it?

And Casey had looked at him and said nothing, but as the days counted down, every single day he had found a way to say "Why? Why are you doing this?" Until this morning, when he had balked altogether. Zeke honestly hadn't been expecting that – even after he had found Casey up on the roof in his boxers, seemingly oblivious to the drenched and chilled state that he was in. Zeke had thought Casey was a little bit more amenable to plain logic, even when fear held sway over most of his thought processes.

There was still a lot of waffle on Casey's plate when he set his fork and knife down. "I can't finish this," Casey said to Zeke with a hint of challenge.

Are you going to force me, just like you're forcing me to do this terrible thing?

"Fine," Zeke replied. "It's your stomach."

Eat or don't eat... you're still going to the doctor.

"I didn't think it would be so big."

How could you do this to me?

"It is pretty big, I don't think I could finish it either."

I love you is all, can you get that through your mixed up head?

"Next time... I'll order something else." Casey's voice was very small.

I'm sorry, Zeke, I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.

Zeke was not the type of person to grab someone's hand across the table; it was just not him. What he did was smile at Casey as though he understood. Maybe not completely, but he really did try to understand everything even if it was pretty damn tiring at times.

"I think it's time for me and Casey to get going," Sasha said, intruding on their conversation. "You can take care of the check for us, yes?"

Sasha threw out some money, slid out of the booth and stood waiting. Casey was more than slightly wild-eyed. He wasn't moving.

"Be careful with my car," Zeke said to Sasha, buying Casey some time.

Sasha rolled his eyes. "Sasha can drive, papa."

"This is the big city, you know. Traffic everywhere."

"I'll manage." Sasha addressed Casey with: "Come on, kitten."

Casey moved finally, trailing after Sasha towards the door like a person just denied parole. On impulse, Zeke followed them, saying to Stokes, "Just be a mo'."

He caught up to Casey and steered him quickly into the small alcove between the men and women's washrooms.

There was nothing much to be said. Zeke grasped Casey, and felt Casey's arms encircle and hold on to him like they were dangling from a cliff and that grip was the only thing saving him from a fatal plunge. Yeah, okay, Stan had been right about this one thing: Zeke was sure that he would never be able to stop savouring the experience of Casey making a cocoon in him, breathing him instead of air, drinking in him instead of water. He would never be able to stop being needed this completely.

He detached reluctantly from Casey, applying a pair of soft kisses to Casey's strawberry-and-cream mouth. Sasha was stationed nearby, misty-eyed from watching them.

Zeke forced himself to return to his booth, hating the very thought of going to school. He slid into the vinyl seat across from Stokely.

She asked him something.

"Fine," Zeke replied distractedly, eyes still on the door Casey had just gone through.

"Zeke."

He forced himself to pay attention. Stokely looked a little amused and a lot knowing. "What?"

"How. Casey. Is. Casey. The. Casey. Apartment?"

Zeke was able to chuckle at that. "I'm that obvious?"

"Glaring. My eyes have white spots on them."

"The apartment is great, actually. Sasha's been channelling Martha Stewart... Casey loves the roof garden."

Stokely fidgeted slightly. "Is he... Damn, I hate to say it, it seems like we're constantly talking about him behind his back, no wonder he's twitchy... Are things any better?"

"You've been around, you see him almost every day."

"And I never see him go out."

"He goes to the video rental place, as long as Sasha or I go along." Zeke played with his coffee cup. "And Sasha dragged him to the grocery store once. He threw up on the sidewalk but otherwise it was a grand success."

"Jesusfuck... are you... Don't you ever get discouraged, Zeke?"

"No," Zeke lied. He saw her expression and admitted, "Okay, yes, but then I remind myself that we're really just getting started here. I do kinda wish... I wish everything could look hunky-dory for the parents this weekend."

"Brave of you to invite Mr. Connor into your home. I always felt like he was pissed at me for not throwing myself at Casey in a last-ditch attempt to cure him."

"There was no avoiding the visit. They wanted to come, and Casey seems to like them for some reason. And..." Zeke coughed. "His father has been pretty bearable lately." With that, Zeke segued neatly: "And speaking of homophobes..."

"Yes?" Stokely returned cooly.

"How's it going with Stan?"

"We aren't speaking since I told him I couldn't love an intolerant, small-town redneck."

"You didn't."

"I did. Heat of the moment, Zeke. But I stand by it." Stokely looked sadly down at her hands.

"I'm sorry, Stokes."

"It's not your fault."

"Yeah, it is, kinda. I confronted him and got in his face and made it a major issue. If I hadn't, maybe we all could have just ignored it."

"Don't go there, Zeke. You were right to get in his face and you know it. I still love Stan, I guess – but I really don't like him right now and I don't want to be with someone I don't like." Stokely heaved a sigh. "I've been thinking about this a lot. Maybe everything would be different if we didn't go around saying, 'oh, he's a really nice guy even if he does have a problem with gays' or 'she's a good person despite those cracks she makes about blacks every now and then'. People let that stuff pass like it doesn't reflect on anyone's actual character."

"I have a feeling Stan'll come around, though."

"You do?" Suddenly, Stokes was exhibiting some very serious misery.

"Yeah, I do. I think he has it in him. He quit the football team, right? So he can quit being an intolerant, small-town redneck if he really wants to."

"I'm not so sure. But, hey, it isn't like we're some old married couple. People who fall in love in high school usually don't end up together. It's just a fact."

From Stokely, this was a startling statement. "That sounds more like something I would say."

"You did."

"When... what are you talking about?"

"Well, not exactly. What you said was no one can be everything to another person. On the phone, remember?"

"Suppose I've changed my mind?"

Stokely smiled knowingly. "Zeke Tyler... a romantic?"

"Not!" Zeke did not like the direction this was going in at all; he dug around in his head for a change of subject. "I appreciate you stopping in this afternoon, Stokes."

"No problem. He's my friend too, remember?"

"I'm sure I'm being overprotective. I'll bet I need therapy too for being a controlling asshole... Do they bring you the bill here, or what?" Zeke grabbed his jacket and got on his feet, intending to go up to the cash register to force the issue. "I've got to go, I want to do a few errands before class. See you later."

"Later." Stokely waved.

He had an hour and then some before his class in American Politics – which was a joke, a monster elective filled with every idiot prep girl and grunge kid in the northwest. Zeke constantly marvelled at how some people seemed to feel that just because they had a thought, it was worthy of being shared out loud.

Somehow when he had thought about being in college he had imagined himself in dusty little rooms debating Plato and Kant and Heidegger, but instead, as he had been dismayed to learn, he was being required to take a bunch of other things first. In fact, he had only one philosophy course this term. The professor was an old fart who was currently abusing his students with Cynics, Stoics, Epicureans and Hedonists. The Stoics and Cynics didn't make much impression on Zeke one way or the other, but he had a real problem with the Hedonists.... Could these guys have truly believed that it was possible to pursue pleasure without restraint and not ultimately lose the ability to distinguish an itch from an orgasm? Zeke had said as much in class earlier this week, hinting at the plethora of empirical evidence he could have brought forward to support his claim. It earned him a laugh, although the professor was unimpressed.

Yep, Zeke was all about restraint. Until this morning, when he had become a Hedonist just long enough to get off. He was disgusted by his own lack of discipline. Even if Casey had been surprisingly skilful in deflecting Zeke's embarrassment, Zeke was still cringing every time he thought about it. Maybe he was an animal, maybe everyone was an animal – but there could be no such thing as uncontrollable passion, not for him. That was the way it had to be. Whatever Casey might say or do when the siren took over, however comfortable he was with fucking, he still seemed traumatized by Zeke's attempts to convince him that two people could be together without someone in the room having all the power. His behaviour wasn't exactly difficult to understand, but it was a real drag all the same.

Zeke arrived at class with surprises for Casey stuffed in his backpack along with his textbooks, and it was a challenge to concentrate on a lecture on early U.S. expansion policies in a room of four hundred while he knew that at this very moment Casey was probably finishing up with his appointment. The internal debate over whether to just take off and go home or stay for Intro to Western Philosophy at two o'clock was closing up his ears and brain, but he kept stubbornly in his seat. He was not going to blow this off – he was paying for it, he had come here for it, and it actually was a little bit interesting if he was honest with himself.

After the lecture ended, he had an hour to kill; he meandered to the building where the Philosophy department lived and discovered the undergraduate common room, where he sat down and began to read ahead in his textbook, forcing himself not to think about Casey at home, soon to be by himself.

His ears tuned in despite themselves to a conversation between three other students in the near vicinity. It had started almost in whispers and had now increased in volume to the point that there was really no not-hearing.

A young man was saying. "She does love Spike, she's just too rigid and too Buffy-esque to know it."

"Oh, come on!" replied his main opponent, a woman with an intriguingly gruff voice. "Don't you think at a moment like that she'd have understood her real feelings? I think she didn't love him – yeah, she cared for him and trusted him, but she didn't love him. You just want the sappy ending."

"It was pretty far from sappy," the boy protested.

"I think you can totally love someone and not know it." This was the third person, another woman – more like a girl, actually. "Like once I had this crush on a this guy and I couldn't figure out why I always wanted to hit him, but it turned out I was just nutso for him."

"You had to know it, somewhere in you," insisted the first woman. Zeke was now watching them surreptitiously and observed that she was slightly older than the other two, perhaps in her late twenties. Her features were a genetic potluck, a little bit of everything and the effect was startling. "You can't be in love and not know it."

She noticed then that Zeke was observing them.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I think – generally, no one really knows anything about themselves."

"Really?" The way she said that was confirmation: This was a person who liked to argue.

"Really."

"On what do you base that?"

Zeke went along with the debate, enjoying himself. "Actually, I was just thinking that it's funny how you can love someone and not know it, but you pretty well always know when you hate someone."

"What are you," the woman demanded, "A psych major?"

"Kinda," Zeke replied.

"Interesting answer. Come and sit with us?"

After a moment's pause, Zeke joined them.

"I'm Winona," said the woman. "This is Brittany, and that's Jason."

"Zeke."

"I've seen you in Western Phil, we're all in it. Are you a philosophy major then?"

"Apparently."

Winona did not have a giggle; she had a loud, bracing guffaw. "I know what you mean... Nothing's ever exactly like you expect, huh?"

"I agree with that." Zeke couldn't think of more to say. He had never been a person who made conversation; conversations always came to him.

Jason put a conventional topic on the table. "How are you finding it so far?"

"It's okay... you guys in philosophy too?"

Winona replied, "Just me."

"I'm in cultural studies," Jason supplied, "but I'm in the same boat with all of the general education requirements." He was narrow-shouldered, a bit slouching but mainly unoffensive in his appearance. Both he and Brittany appeared to be about twenty. Zeke wondered how Winona had hooked up with them.

"Political science here," said Brittany. "But I think maybe I'll switch to something else."

"Cultural studies," Zeke said to Jason. "Is that where you get to do essays on Buffy?"

"Um," Jason replied, and grinned suddenly. "Well, there is this neat course in popular culture next semester that I want to take."

Casey would love that. Zeke resolved to mention it to him.

He sat with the three of them through the lecture, and afterwards Winona asked him to go for coffee with them. He was shocked to find that he might enjoy such a thing, but it was quite out of the question. Already his adrenalin was rising; he needed to get home, no, wanted to get home.

"Uh, no, thanks," he fumbled. Noting the slightly crestfallen expression on Winona's face, he added, "I have a date with my boyfriend."

Winona raised her eyebrows, letting him know that he was being obvious. Brittany looked a little stunned, and Jason was making a point of not reacting.

"Hmm," Winona said. "Now that we know you're unavailable, maybe we can do coffee next week."

He felt an urge to explain... It isn't just that I'm unavailable, see, I'm not that threatened by you, it's just that I have someone who counts on me to take care of them. And that was stupid because he didn't actually need to explain himself to three complete strangers. He didn't need to go to outdoor concerts and pub nights and make friends and interact with new people. He didn't need to go for coffee and talk philosophy. He didn't need to get to know a single damn person.

"Maybe," he hedged. "I need to get going."

It would take him half an hour to get home on the bus, not including whatever time he spent waiting at the stop. He grabbed his backpack and hurried, not wanting to miss the first available bus. He didn't know the schedules yet.

 

Well, the waffles were not going to be staying down. They just weren't, Casey knew that long before they pulled into the clinic parking lot. He just made it to the sixth floor of the building, bolting out of the elevator and running for the bathroom; when he emerged from there, in the usual condition he was in after throwing up, Sasha had already grown roots at the reception desk and was waving him over. Casey had told himself that he could still leave if he needed to, and he could he supposed, but Sasha was wearing the expression he always did when he was about to do his tough love thing. Casey didn't want to find out what Sasha would do to keep him from leaving. He dragged his feet up to the desk, gave the nurse his insurance card, and over his shoulder surveyed the waiting room for a secure place from which he could keep an eye on everything.

The clinic was apparently a point of access for several different doctors; the waiting room held rows of interconnecting plastic and metal chairs, and the chairs were full of people. Apart from a single space here and there, there were two empty seats to be found only in the very middle of the room. Casey counted fourteen people, and only a few of them looked convincingly ill. There were a few sets of mothers and children, a bunch of older people –

Sasha put a hand in the small of his back and gently propelled him in the direction of the two free seats. He couldn't resist without drawing everyone's attention so he sat down and tried to remain vigilant, but it was impossible when all the chemicals in his body were charging around, making a hash of his brain. There was a woman on his left who didn't fit in her chair and she kept elbowing him. On his right, Sasha patted Casey's hand each time it happened, a single half-pat, half-caress that was also a message: Stay put. The woman never looked at him, never apologized, but she had to be aware that she was in his space so why didn't she acknowledge their physical intimacy with a smile or a word, why didn't she even glance in his direction to offer apology? That was the human thing to do, wasn't it?

The fourth time she shifted position, her elbow went deep into his arm and he couldn't stand it, he couldn't sit there and just let her invade him; he launched himself out of the chair and went to stand in the available corner adjacent to the cloakroom. Now people were staring at him, quite possibly seeing a dangerous crazed person with wild eyes and tangled hair but people who were locked up in hospitals didn't need to be groomed did they and he didn't care what they knew they could all be looking at him as their next victim anyway even the children even the ones who were making a point of looking sick –

Sasha had followed him, getting between him and his view of the people in the waiting area. "Calm down," he instructed under his breath.

"She was touching me," he tried to explain, his voice too loud.

Sasha made shushing gestures. "By accident. That's bound to happen once in a while."

He did know that. He kept a battered old photograph in his head that depicted how things were supposed to be if everything was well and there were no aliens or monsters or bad guys around. But he also had to be prepared for possibilities of whatever, possibilities that things that were unlikely were also true and things that were merely possible could become true if he didn't get away from here and stop thinking about them.

A tall man unfolded himself from his plastic chair and came at him with a leisurely pace, regarding him intently. He tried to slip sideways along the wall, to get around the man and to the door; Sasha was in the way, blocking him. The man passed by him... retrieved his windbreaker from the cloakroom.

That woman whose elbow he had gotten to know so acutely was looking at him, staring fixedly, not blinking, unfriendly.

"Casey," whispered Sasha urgently.

"I want to go." They always wanted him to assert himself didn't they, they always said tell me what you want Casey and so Casey was asserting himself now... hadn't worked with Zeke earlier but Sasha was a softer touch especially if he poured on the tears and looked pathetic -- "I don't need a doctor."

"I'm not even going to dignify that," was Sasha's reply.

"Casey Connor?" a nurse called. She was standing not five feet away, holding a thin file folder and looking quizzically at them. Her eyes narrowed, assessing him. Trying to decide if he was a maniac, if he should walk about free or not because that was what they did when they weren't coming at you with a tray full of food or a needle.

He was going to run. He fully intended it.

Except Sasha grabbed him by the upper arms and spun him in the direction of the nurse, who reared back slightly like he had just thrown a cat at her. "Casey?" she inquired warily.

Sasha was going to hand him over to them – but no, Sasha wanted him to surrender himself of his own accord. And he managed to remember something important then: If he didn't do this now they would just make him come back and that would be twice the endangerment, so he nodded once and let Sasha march him with hands on his shoulders, making sure he walked to his own execution.

"Your friend's coming too?" the nurse asked him.

Sasha answered for him this time, firmly. "Yes."

Casey concurred with a nod. The nurse's brows had been high on her forehead; now they climbed to her hairline. "All right, then."

They were shown into the doctor's office, which had been arranged to encourage informality. The large, glossy wooden desk was facing the wall. There were two chairs to one side of it, so that visitors would not be sitting across but rather almost next to the doctor, facing towards the window. The window, of course, opened to nothing but air; so he would not be escaping that way. Casey decided his only recourse now was to answer questions and hope his luck held long enough to get out of here safely. Zeke was depending on him and it wasn't Zeke's fault he was here. It was his fault if he couldn't be sane enough so his job right now was to depict someone capable of being out on the street rather than in some sterile, controlled environment.

Sasha sat down in one chair, dragging Casey into the one next to him. As he did, he got a good look at Casey's face, and evidently Casey was not doing such a good job so far, for he said, "Kitten, you know that nothing bad is going to happen."

"I don't know that," he muttered.

"Trust me, then. It's going to be okay."

A small, slender woman of east Indian descent came in, holding that cream-coloured file with Casey's name on it. She wore the doctor's white flag of identity over black slacks and a black turtleneck, and she easily spotted the sick person in the room, walking up to him. "Casey?" she said.

He nodded, not feeling sure of his voice right then.

She held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Chakri." He accepted the touch, briefly. "And who is this?"

"I'm – " began Sasha.

"He's my friend," Casey said hoarsely. He suddenly wanted to clutch Sasha like a life-sized stuffed toy, but that would look a little desperate, wouldn't it? It wouldn't contribute to the appearance of sanity at all. "Sasha."

"You want him to stay while we talk?"

"Yes, I – I want him to stay."

"That's fine, as long as you're comfortable with it."

She took a seat at her desk, assessing him in that careful way that doctors generally did. He tried to keep his eyes up, to return her look. She was in her forties perhaps, but with a sweet, girlish voice that made her sound very kind without even trying. He would have to be careful of that.

"So what brings you here, Casey?"

Sasha started in right away. "Well, he's been – "

"Excuse me, Sasha, sorry to interrupt you, but I'd like to hear from Casey."

From some people that would have sounded rude but from her it was merely to the point. Sasha didn't look offended by it, just a bit startled. Casey clenched his fists, clenched his whole body.

"I just want to chat with you a bit, Casey, find out what's going on." Dr. Chakri flipped open her file. There was one page in it, mostly blank. Casey stared at the few handwritten words on it. The doctor noted the direction of his gaze and held the folder up where he could see what it contained without straining his eyes or reading upside down – which he had already done. "All it says here, Casey, is that you just moved here, and you suffer from depression and frequent panic attacks."

"And – the hospital," Casey added.

"Yes. I also know that, but that's all I know, Casey." The eyes that were watching him seemed too attentive, too knowing even while they pretended to be gentle. "Are you worried that I'm going to put you in a hospital?"

Hearing one of his many fears stated so bluntly did not help him. He nodded, gulping at the elusive air that was whirling around him not getting into his lungs somehow.

"I can only do that if you meet certain criteria, Casey, and it's pretty specific criteria. Why don't we get that out of the way so we won't have that worry between us?"

"O - okay," he granted, his body clench beginning to go to shudders.

"I'll just ask you a few questions... Are you thinking about harming yourself?"

He shook his head.

"Are you thinking about harming anyone else?"

"No."

"Do you have thoughts that scare you?"

Thoughts that scared him – ? What kind of trick question was that? Of course he did, all the time.

"I mean," she edited herself, "do you find yourself thinking about dying or dwelling on how you would do it?"

"Not really."

"Not really?"

He was stuck now, he had to tell her something, and before he could stop himself his mouth opened and the truth came out. "Sometimes I... think about... disappearing," he admitted. He didn't understand why he was telling her this, why he felt compelled to be honest suddenly.

"What do you mean by disappearing, Casey?"

"I don't... I don't want to be a burden." He couldn't look in Sasha's direction, but Sasha's hand caught his, trying to reassure him without uttering the obvious lie that he was not a burden – and he was, he saw them get tired and impatient and sometimes they even looked like they were ready to give up on him altogether. They would talk themselves out of it and remember that they cared for him, but they were only human and it wasn't fair. Maybe he should be in a hospital, there at least the people who spent alldayeveryday looking after him were compensated for it. It was their actual job, not a project they had picked up along the way and had unwittingly committed themselves to spending every moment of their spare time on finishing. But if he were in a hospital, Zeke and Sasha would have failed, and he couldn't do that to them.

Dr. Chakri asked him, "Are you planning to disappear, Casey?"

"No."

"You would tell me if you were, wouldn't you?"

"You don't believe me?" he challenged, his voice ragged. He wasn't planning anything. He didn't have the wherewithal to plan and he wasn't wanting to do anything except occasionally he thought about being somewhere quiet and still, and did he think about harming someone else? Fuck, yes, all the time, he worried about it constantly, it was uppermost in his mind.

"I do believe you, Casey. I find that people who are suicidal are generally up front about it. Sometimes they're terrified by what they're thinking and they want to tell me, or they aren't able to hide it when I ask them. So I believe you. I need to ask you, though... How did you come to be in the hospital? Was it a suicide attempt?"

He began surveying the artwork that was hanging on her walls. Nature prints, all of them. "I can't really remember."

"That's not surprising. You must have discussed it with someone, though. Afterwards."

He shrugged, and tucked his hands into the crooks of his arms. After what seemed like just a minute but could have been much longer, he realized she was still waiting for him to answer, and Sasha was not going to bail him out this time.

"Zeke... brought me."

"Who's Zeke?"

"My – friend."

"He brought you to the hospital?"

"Yes."

"Why did he do that?"

He took a deep breath, collecting his energies. This was one of those occasions, when he had to go a little further, make an extra effort because she wanted to hear that he understood what had gone wrong with him. "I was messed up. I didn't eat, I... would go into these sort of trances and that last day I burned myself with the iron... " He sensed Sasha's ears working at two hundred percent capacity, trying to soak up every word he said. "I had an argument with Zeke and I wandered off and when he found me I didn't know what was going on or anything... He took me to the emergency room and they – I guess they made me stay but I don't really remember much of it."

"And that was when you went into the hospital."

"Yes."

"Was it voluntary or involuntary?"

"Voluntary."

"And you stayed how long?"

"Twelve days."

"And when was this? When did you leave the hospital?"

"About three weeks ago."

Dr. Chakri had been writing diligently while he spoke; now she sat back and sized him up. "How long have you been in Seattle?"

"Almost two weeks."

"So... you got out of hospital and almost immediately moved here?"

Oh, fuck, fuck --"Yes," he said, his voice giving away his distress at the implication that he had revealed something important, that he had moved to this city far too quickly. "It was... We were planning it, to come here – and I wanted to. I wanted to... with Zeke."

"That's your decision of course, Casey." Still leaning back, she laced her fingers together. "You're living with Zeke?"

"And Sasha."

Dr. Chakri acknowledged Sasha with a pleasant look, and Sasha jumped in, unsolicited, with, "We're making sure he eats and takes care of himself, Doctor."

"That's excellent, Casey, that you have two friends supporting you. That makes all the difference." The doctor picked up her pen again. "How's your appetite?"

"It's..." He didn't dare say anything but the bare truth, not with Sasha listening. "Not great, but they make me eat."

"You look underweight to me, Casey."

"I... I feel sick a lot." Casey glanced at Sasha, hoping he would somehow rescue him on this point. He supposed there wasn't much to work with, though. "But I eat."

"He's better than he was," Sasha provided. "I think he's even put on a few pounds."

Dr. Chakri nodded. "When you feel sick, do you throw up?"

"Yeah."

"Do you know why?"

"Mostly because... I get worried."

"Worried?"

"Anxious, I guess."

Kind, brown eyes took him in and decided to give him a break for the moment. "Well, I think it's safe to say we won't be putting you in a hospital just yet." She smiled encouragingly at him. "It sounds like you're recovering, Casey, although it will take some time, of course. Can we go on now?"

"Yes," he said, reminding himself to be on guard. It wasn't over yet, not by a longshot.

To prove his point, she suddenly hit him with, "Would you be willing to sign a release to have your records from – Ohio, was it? – to have copies of your records sent to me?"

But he and Zeke had prepared for this question. They had rehearsed possible questions and answers so he wouldn't lose it when, inevitably, the subject came up. "Is it necessary?" he asked.

"No, but it might be helpful. If you don't want to, that's up to you."

"I don't want to."

"We'll just start fresh, then." Dr. Chakri did not appear to be upset in the least by this, plunging right back into the interview. "Are you on medication, Casey?"

"Yes," he said, distracted by his effort not to cry with relief. "Paxil."

The doctor was writing, rapidly filling up her sheet of paper. "For how long?"

"Since the hospital – four weeks, about."

"Do you know the dose?"

Sasha had come prepared and produced Casey's bottle of pills. Dr. Chakri took it and scanned the label.

"Forty milligrams per day. That's a relatively high dose." She eyed Casey as she asked, "Have you noticed any side effects or symptoms that trouble you, Casey?"

Apart from being dead below the neck? Casey had trouble mustering the words, not really sure why. It could have been just because she was a she. "I..."

"Yes?"

"There is... something, but..."

"Kitten, I'll leave if you want," Sasha offered.

"No!" he refused instantly. The doctor seemed nice but there was really no way to be sure, so he would have to just say it. "It's... I'm having trouble..."

"Your sex drive is missing in action."

He found a laugh for her. "Understatement."

"That's a common side effect of Paxil, Casey. We could try another medication, but I'm reluctant to go to something else just yet, it's only been a month and Paxil can take up to eight weeks to reach full effect. Have you noticed any improvement in your mood, generally?"

"I feel... different," was the most he could offer – but Sasha was practically vibrating in his chair.

"Can I say something?" he burst in.

Dr. Chakri was amused. "By all means."

"You're three zillion percent better than you were, Casey. You talk, you smile once in a while, you don't sleep as much..."

"That sounds very encouraging, Sasha," said Dr. Chakri, "but it's how Casey feels that is the real indicator. So, Casey – would you agree with Sasha? Has there been an improvement?"

He half-shrugged. "I guess so."

"Don't agree for your friend's sake, Casey."

"I don't know... I think..." Casey glanced sideways at Sasha and conceded, "some things are better."

"Ah. Well, do you feel comfortable continuing to take the Paxil? I know the sex thing is a bummer."

"I'll keep taking them."

"Of course, we will re-evaluate in a few weeks, and I should warn you that one option is to increase the dose if this one isn't working for you." The doctor leaned back in her chair again. She pinned him with a considering look. "Bear in mind, Casey, that there may be other things causing sexual dysfunction. That's not always something that men like to hear, I know. It's just something to think about... Perhaps something to discuss with your therapist."

She was waiting for acknowledgment. "Okay," he agreed.

"Now... It sounds like you're having a lot of anxiety."

"Yeah," he said, choosing a focal point somewhere on the floor.

"Can you describe your symptoms?"

"Panic attacks... mostly at night... I have these... I go away in my head and I don't hear or feel anything. The doctor called it dissociation."

"Mmm hmm," she said, writing again. "How long does it last?"

"I don't... know exactly. Depends."

Dr. Chakri prompted, "Sasha?"

Sasha answered readily. "The worst ones could be an hour or more. More often they're just a few minutes."

"And what precipitates them?"

Casey answered, "I get really scared and then I just... I stop feeling or thinking, but I don't realize it's happening until it's over."

"Okay. Anything else you want to tell me?"

He chewed on his lip, knowing his reluctance was written on his face.

"It's all right, Casey, just tell me. There's nothing embarrassing about anxiety, a lot of people suffer from it."

"I'm afraid of people."

"What sort of people?"

"Um... every sort of people."

She lifted her head. "How afraid? Like you just don't want them to touch you afraid or – "

"I don't like to go out of the apartment."

"Are you usually able to overcome that fear and go out, or does it basically keep you from going anywhere – ?"

"Usually... I can go out for a little while. Sasha and Zeke make me go out at least once a day."

"Would you say that you feel nervous or endangered a lot of the time?"

"Mostly."

"Do you feel endangered right now?"

He looked at her. She was watching him steadily, her expression very neutral.

"Yes," he said.

"Okay. It is very possible that with the Paxil your anxiety will diminish, especially as you work through things in therapy. But there is some medication I can prescribe that will help you function better in the meantime. It's called Xanax and it's often prescribed for panic attacks. It mellows you out without knocking you on your ass, to put it bluntly. You can take it if you feel a panic attack coming on or if you think you're going to dissociate. But don't wait until the attack is full blown because it probably won't stop it, okay?"

"What about... going out?"

"That's up to you. If you feel like you're going to lose it, then by all means, take one. You have to decide how much anxiety is too much, but remember, Casey, this is just a temporary fix-it to help you get by. You don't want to be dependent on Xanax to live your life. You have to take a look at the root causes of your anxiety. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Would you like to try it?"

"Yeah," Casey said, checking with Sasha but getting no indication of his opinion on the matter.

"Good, then I'll write you a prescription for thirty Xanax before you go and we'll see how you do. Now – we should talk more about the physical stuff. You do look a bit fatigued, Casey. Do you have trouble sleeping?"

"Not – usually."

"Okay, well, there could be some general health issues for us to address. You're underweight, you're very pale – I think we should do a complete physical. If you weren't eating well for a while then you could be suffering from some nutrient deficiencies – and at the very least we should rule certain things out. We don't have time for the full physical today, but we can get it started. Do you mind if do my vampire thing?"

"Your... what?"

"I'm going to get a nurse to take your blood. I'd also like a urine sample if possible."

"Oh... okay."

"Good. I'll just ask someone to look after you, excuse me a moment." Dr. Chakri got to her feet. Smiling once more at Casey, she stepped out of the room.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Sasha asked.

He didn't want to say, as it wasn't over yet. Nothing should be taken for granted; he couldn't tell Sasha that he was afraid of triggering his usual bad karma by being too confident too soon.

The door made a sound; they both turned their heads to look. It was a nurse carrying a tray with an assortment of plastic tubes and needles, an empty plastic cup, no doubt for his urine, and his chart.

"Hi," she said. Her manner was not nearly as accessible or pleasing as Dr. Chakri's. In Casey's experience, nurses came in two varieties – icky-sweet and ultra-gruff, although their classification would usually have no bearing on their competence. "If you'll come with me, I'm going to take your height and weight, then we'll do the blood and urine."

Casey allowed himself to be escorted, with Sasha in tow, to an empty exam room. Not surprisingly, it was more clinical and much less welcoming, decorated with informational posters and glass jars full of various instruments, and an examination table that was essentially a raised, vinyl and paper-covered dais for preparing sacrifice.

"Why don't we start with the measuring," said the nurse. It was not a request, and neither was, "Do you want to hop on the scale here?"

Ultra-Gruff, definitely. The smell of her perfume bothered him too, or perhaps it was just the scent in the laundry soap that she used. He obeyed her, not really listening as she hemmed and clicked her pen and adjusted the scale, muttering to herself. After that she invited him to step into the bathroom to fill the little plastic cup, which was the easiest part of the visit so far. Then she required him to sit on the exam table and tied the tourniquet around his arm, looking for an appropriately juicy vein. He averted his eyes and didn't think while she inserted the needle. After the sting of insertion he watched as red liquid rushed into four of the vials, filling them one after the other. He had always been fascinated by the mechanistic efficiency of his body when draining itself; an engine that was designed to keep him alive would keep turning over until there was nothing left for it to sustain.

The blood-letting was complete, and as he tried to move a wave of dizziness suddenly drowned him.

"Whoa!" exclaimed the nurse. "A little woozy? Just lie down here for a few minutes. We don't want you fainting." She gave him a push that was a bit harder than necessary, pressing him down.

Panic took hold of him with jagged teeth, obliterating his mind. It was happening, it, the monster was here and he couldn't move, couldn't think, could barely feel his body at all... There was clammy sweat coming up on his skin, his heart was going and going and he was breathing but it wasn't working out. He was trying to get upright and he couldn't seem to do it. Every movement made his head spin but he needed to get up... he needed to get up right now –

"Hey," Sasha's voice said. "What's the matter, kitten?"

"Gotta get up... want to... let me up," he heard himself blathering.

Sasha helped him. He could barely hold up his head, resting it against Sasha's chest. He grabbed onto Sasha's sleeve, as if that were going to keep him from sliding unconscious to the floor.... Such a long time before he heard the soft voice, the girlish, sweet tones of Dr. Chakri saying "Are you all right?" but he didn't like that and he didn't like the way her hands felt on his arm. He shoved them off.

"Just let him sit for a second," Sasha said.

"It's okay, Casey," she said. "Just take your time..." Her voice sounded from far away, going in and out so he heard about half of what she was saying but it sounded like she was looking at him while they waited for him to pull himself together. "... see you have... injuries.... looks.. healing up ... I would... put on some weight, though. I'm going..."

He had to focus, think... so much danger... he was in so much danger. He had to get up, had to leave...

"... do that? Casey?"

"Kitten?

His vision finally cleared and he found himself leaning at an awkward angle against Sasha, staring into a concerned female face. She was too close to him, way too close.

"Not you," he mumbled, panting for breath, fighting to get straight and upright where he could see more clearly.

"May I –?" She reached for his arm, and he half-pushed, half-slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me."

Dr. Chakri stepped back obligingly and said, matter-of-fact, "Well, this is quite an effective demonstration of your anxiety symptoms, Casey."

He stared hostilely at her, still breathing hard.

"Casey? Are you listening?"

He wheezed, "I don't want you touching me."

"I won't, Casey, but we're going to have a difficult time doing a physical that way."

"Not today, though," Sasha said, sounding anxious.

"Not today," the doctor agreed. "Casey, does this sort of thing happen often?"

His breathing was getting easier now, but he was sullen and completely unwilling now, not caring anymore that she was getting an eyeful of just how fucked-up he was. "Yes," was all he was going to say.

"How long has this been going on?"

He was not speaking.

"Casey..." Sasha reprimanded, in a low voice.

"If you don't want to answer, that's fine," Dr. Chakri went on briskly. "There's plenty of time to figure it all out. Casey, I want to see you next week so we can finish up the physical and go over the results of your bloodwork. Are you going to school, Casey?"

This caught his off-guard slightly. "No," he responded.

"Well, I have some homework for you. Your major assignment right now is to get healthy. A few tests will tell us if there are any obvious things that can be fixed, but in the meantime you'll have your work cut out for you. I'd like you to follow a diet based on the food pyramid and be sure to load up on the vegetables. Plus... I don't usually advise my patients to increase their intake of red meat, but for now it couldn't hurt. I have some information booklets for you about nutrition in general."

"I do a lot of the cooking," Sasha said helpfully. "And I'm very familiar with the pyramid."

"Even better. I'm also going to prescribe vitamin supplements, Casey, because you look like you could use them. I also want you to be sure to get in some exercise every day. Exercise is remarkably effective at combatting anxiety and depression as well as improving your overall health. It doesn't have to be anything intense, I would recommend short walks to start. Also, I would strongly recommend that you avoid caffeine. Do you drink coffee, or soda?"

Sasha looked at Casey and winced in sympathy. "Damn," he commiserated.

"I take it that's a yes? With your anxiety, Casey, it's very important to stay away from the caffeine. It's a stimulant, even a small amount could affect you drastically. It may sound like a hardship, I know, but there are alternatives to coffee... Maybe try some herbal teas. Another thing I'd like to do is to refer you to a clinic, it's called the Powell Relaxation Therapy Clinic, and they've helped a lot of people with anxiety, depression, chronic pain and even more serious illnesses. They usually like to see people for an hour, at least three times a week. And you'll have your other therapy. So you're going to be busy, Casey. Getting well is hard work, but I have no doubt that Sasha and Zeke will help you to get all this done."

"Absolutely," Sasha rang in.

"I'll ask the nurse at reception to get you the information you need." As she spoke, Dr. Chakri was writing her instructions down. "I think you're okay with your medication for now." She smiled, proffering several slips of paper; when Casey didn't take them, they were passed on to Sasha. "Now you're all set. I'll see you in a week, okay?"

"He'll be here," Sasha promised when Casey didn't reply.

Dr. Chakri nodded to Sasha. "Have a good day, Casey."

Sasha held his arm as he stepped down from the exam table. His legs felt weak and shaky, but at least the dizziness had passed. He couldn't wait to be back in the car, which was almost as good as home. He merely had to stand in the waiting room again for a minute or two while the nurse found an appointment for him next week.

 

Inhaling the blissfully familiar smells of leather and Zeke's car freshener, Casey waited for Sasha to get started bringing him home. But no, Sasha was thinking, getting ready to say something.

"I'm sorry for the way I acted," Casey blurted out, needing to end the silence.

"I know."

"I didn't mean for it to happen."

Sasha twisted to look at him. "Just one thing, kitten. You are not a burden. Say it."

"I'm not a burden," he muttered.

"Say it again... louder this time and make it sound like you mean it."

"I'm not a burden."

"Now believe it."

That he couldn't do, and he supposed he was blatant about it.

"Casey." Sasha sounded unhappy; Casey saw his throat working as he massaged his forehead. "If I fell down and broke my leg and was bedridden for two months, you would want to help me, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," he said, and knew exactly where this was going.

"You would cook for me – god forbid – and bring me my meals on a tray and cool drinks and fan me and feed me grapes like my harem boy, right?"

Casey felt his mouth crook up at one end. "Yes."

"So how is that different from me and Zeke helping you?"

He didn't want to get into all the reasons, but it was different. "You... do more than that for me," Casey said.

"Well, you're welcome."

"I mean... I don't know how I'd... I wouldn't be able to..."

"I understand, kitten, really."

"But I should – "

"Kitten, I appreciate what you're trying to say but you've gotta know you'd have to run me off with a cattle prod to get me to go anywhere. The same goes for Zeke, so just accept it. Now enough of this... Geez, are we flaming here or what? You probably want to get home." Sasha put the key in the ignition and was about to start the engine when his hand dropped suddenly. He turned again and he requested, out of the blue, "Or... we could take a brief detour and get your hair cut?"

Casey whipped his head around in Sasha's direction. "No," he refused.

"Aw, kitten – "

"No."

"Casey. Your parents will be here tomorrow," Sasha said, obviously picking his words with care. "Don't you want to – to –"

Don't you want to look a bit less like a freak so they won't feel like they need to take you away from me and Zeke and haul you back to Herrington?

"Okay," Casey yielded. He hadn't been thinking about his parents' impending visit and how important it was to Zeke and Sasha that he seem to be improving, but he did now. He could do this much for everybody.

Sasha blinked. "Okay, what?"

"Okay, let's get me a haircut."

Sasha smiled brilliantly at him. "Thank you, kitten."

It seemed that Sasha had been plotting this for a while. He already knew of a place in their neighbourhood that met his standards but was not terribly large or busy. One o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon was not exactly a peak time either. They walked in and Sasha asked if they could do without an appointment. The receptionist offered a Julie or an Adam and Sasha grabbed Adam, who was Asian-American and had dyed his dark hair a white blond at the tips.

Adam took one look at Casey and yelped. "Oh, mother of god! It's been a while, huh?" He directed Casey to sit at his station while Sasha looked on from nearby. "So what do we want to do?"

"I was thinking..." Sasha said, eyeing Casey critically in the mirror. "Short up the sides but don't cut too much on the top. Just enough that he can see. Then make it all choppy on the ends and goop it up really good. Give it lots of texture. What do you think, Casey? Still leaves you lots to work with."

"Sure," he agreed, happy to let Sasha play with his live doll.

Adam beckoned. "Casey, is it? Come on over to the sink here."

When he agreed to this he hadn't been thinking about the part where he would have to lie back with his throat exposed while the man's hands were in his hair, near his face. He went down and stayed down for the first little bit until he just couldn't and tried to sit up and only made it halfway as Adam accidentally yanked on his hair.

"Oh, sorry!"

Soap was running down his neck. He put his neck back on the edge of the sink and closed his eyes and tried to think about something else for the next sixty seconds, something that didn't make him hyperventilate, like a sharp pair of scissors snipping away near his face, or a razor hacking at the ends of his hair. He survived the rinse of the soap and let Adam put some conditioner in and rinse that out, but when it seemed like there was going to be some third stage of preparation that still involved the sink and the water, he bolted upright in the chair.

"Um," Adam said, a little uneasy. "I guess that's good enough." He put a towel on Casey's head and began to dry his hair. The moment Casey felt the pressure exerted by Adam's hands around his ears, he was on his feet. Adam was quite uncomfortable now. "I was just going to towel it..."

Sasha intervened, putting an arm around Casey's shoulders and steering him. "Here, let me. Kitten, come sit here."

Casey allowed himself to be positioned once more in the chair at Adam's station. He reached up to dry his own hair but Sasha was already on it, vigourously rubbing with the towel until his hair was just slightly damp. In the mirror, Casey saw Adam approaching from behind him with scissors and a comb. "It's okay," he told Adam's reflection.

He didn't sound very encouraging, nor did Adam appear to be convinced, but he came forward readily enough to start cutting. It only took ten minutes, and Casey kept his eyes closed. He didn't think he zoned but he did startle out of something near to a trance when Adam commented, "You have some nice thick hair here. Hey, we should do some blond lights."

Casey opened his eyes and unexpectedly was looking in the mirror at a face who resembled someone he should know. "Are... are you done?" he asked, and heard his voice tremble.

"Just need to 'goop it up'" said Adam lightly. "No highlights, then?"

"No highlights," Sasha put in. "Not today, anyway."

The moment Adam was done, Casey shot up out of the chair. He stood off by the display of hair care products while Sasha paid for the cut and the stuff he would be needing to accomplish that stylishly messy look he was now wearing. It was a lot like his previous hairstyle, only a bit longer on top than before, while the rest was short enough to make his mother happy.

"Thank you," Sasha was saying to Adam. "It looks great."

"No problem." Adam glanced in Casey's direction. "Come back any time."

So the excursion was over, finally.

"Maybe we should get that prescription filled," Sasha suggested when they were sitting in the car again.

Casey shook his head, really meaning it this time. All he wanted right now was a rest in the quiet, familiar environment of home. He loved their apartment. He loved the furniture that Sasha had tormented Zeke into getting, especially the couch as it was excellent for napping. He loved the way the sun came in the front window in late afternoon, he loved the happy humming noises Sasha made in the kitchen. He loved the stereo and the DVD player and he loved the bed that Zeke had bought. In fact, upon getting in the door he couldn't decide if he loved the bed or the couch more. His feet decided for him, taking him directly to the couch, where he folded himself up in a ball.

He heard a footstep, saw Sasha standing over him. "Can I have some?" Sasha asked him.

"Some what?"

"You know... Casey cuddles. I have just enough time for a quickie before I go."

"Oh... sure."

Sasha sat down and turned on the TV, flicking to a channel that was mostly harmless. He put a pillow in his lap and patted the pillow, grinning a welcome. Casey got comfortable, closing out the sight and sound of MacMillan & Wife.

"There," Sasha said. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Was too," Casey contradicted, mostly to amuse Sasha, but he meant it too. "Was horrible."

"You're going to have to go out to all those appointments, kitten. Do you think you can do that on your own? If they're earlier in the day I can probably go with you, but if I get a job I'll be working late afternoon to midnight most likely."

Casey dug deeper into the pillow and said, "When do you have to leave for your interview?" Suddenly, the prospect of all those minutes by himself yawned before him and the apartment didn't feel quite as safe. Sasha hesitated. He replied tentatively, "The interview is at two, so I should get going soon."

"Whazzit called... the restaurant, I mean?"

"Sojourn... It's an incredible place, kitten. I've so got my fingers crossed! Gourmet named it one of the top fifty new restaurants in America and the guy who owns it, his name is Oliver Sand and he's a graduate of the Cordon Bleu cooking school in Paris. He's also lived in India and the Phillippines and Japan... They say he's absolutely brilliant... Fuck, if I could work there I'd... I'd... But it's a longshot," Sasha finished sadly.

Casey protested, "You're a great chef."

"And you're not at all biased, I'm sure!"

"You are... I loved those grilled cheese sandwiches you made yesterday."

"I'll be sure to mention that in the interview," Sasha muttered, and Casey realized he was actually nervous. He hadn't thought that Sasha could get nervous.

Struggling into a sitting position, Casey repeated it: "You're a great chef."

"Kitten... You don't need to stroke my ego. I know I'm good, but there's a million of me out there."

"You got the job in Cincinnati."

"Which I got fired from."

He hadn't given a thought to the length of Sasha's stay or what it meant. He was unbelievably fucking stupid –

"Oh, no, kitten, no – I chose to come and be with you and I wouldn't want to be anywhere other than here. It would have been nice if I could say I quit, but them's the breaks. The guy was a fuckin' prick and that's not your fault, okay?"

"Okay," he said with just the right amounts of reluctance and acceptance, just so he could stop the conversation, not because he actually believed it wasn't his fault but because it had to be okay for Sasha to leave him by himself. Casey knew that Sasha was a lot more stressed about not having a job than he let on; he needed this interview.

Shifting to the other side of the couch, Casey reconnected with his pillow and became drowsy again quickly, comfortably aware of Sasha still sitting nearby. Macmillan & Wife gave way to Columbo, and it was not too hard to fall asleep with Peter Falk doing his schtick in the background. When he opened his eyes sometime later, Sasha was gone. If Stokely had been upstairs, he must have missed it. The clock said it was two-sixteen. Zeke would get out of class at three and Casey knew from previous days that it would take about thirty-five minutes for Zeke to get home. One hour and nineteen minutes to go. He could do one hour and nineteen minutes. He closed his eyes and applied himself to sleeping through it.

 

Zeke never thought of himself as a pessimist, but getting home to find Casey napping peacefully on the couch, he had to reconsider that. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting. If there had been trauma, he wasn't seeing it. In fact, there was something different, a change since this morning... ah, at some point in the day Sasha must have coaxed him into the hair salon for a trim. More than just a trim. It was irrational and very superficial, but Zeke was once again looking at the Casey who had been unwrapped for him last Christmas, the Casey who blown the roof off his house.

Zeke squatted down in front of the couch and tickled Casey's cheek. Casey opened his eyes, smiling happily to see Zeke there, and Zeke's insides did big, sentimental backflips.

"How'd it go?" Zeke asked. He tapped on Casey's leg, telling him to sit up and make room on the couch.

Casey sat up and yawned and stretched – which had to be exclusively for Zeke's enjoyment because such a conspicuous display of raw beauty could not actually be by accident. "It was... okay."

Zeke settled beside him, turned sideways for ease of conversation. "What's the doctor like? Did she ask you about anything? Did she know?"

"Um... she's nice. I told her I didn't want to release the records and she didn't mind." Casey paused. "I don't think she knows about the aliens."

Zeke realized how tense he had been right then, because the loosening of that tension suddenly had him shaking. "And?" he pressed. It came out gravelly; he cleared his throat.

"She gave me a prescription for Xanax. I'm supposed to take one if I start to feel panicky."

"And what else?"

"She gave me a bunch of things to do."

"What things?"

"Exercise..." Casey yawned again. "... And stuff. She wrote it down... Sasha has the paper."

"So it went okay?"

Casey ducked his head and suddenly wouldn't look at Zeke. "I freaked out a bit."

"How? What happened?"

"I just... got panicky. Couldn't talk to her."

"What the heck was Sasha doing?" Zeke demanded. Lowering the volume, he revised, "no, never mind, I'm sure he did the usual Sasha things–" which were adequate, most times "–so when's your next appointment?"

"Next week. I have to get a physical... they took blood. I had to pee in a cup – the usual."

"So it was okay," Zeke said again.

"Uh... mostly. 'M just tired."

"And after all that Sasha made you get your hair cut?"

"Mmm hmm." Casey looked at him with a slight frown. "Is it okay?"

Right, so he had Casey asking him for permission to cut his hair; this was an indicator that maybe he needed to tone it down. "It looks much better," he complimented, meaning it.

"Not so crazy?" Casey asked.

Zeke was about to protest the use of that term when he saw that Casey was wearing a rather coy expression; he played along and agreed, "Not so crazy." Remembering the items he had stashed in his backpack, he said, "Oh, hey. I bought you something."

"Really?"

"What, like I never gave you presents before?"

Hiding his eagerness, he presented Casey with bags from Blockbuster and Mrs. Field's. The Blockbuster bag contained the DVD of "The Philadelphia Story"; they had already rented it last week and Casey had watched it three times before it had to go back and would probably be asking to rent it again soon, so Zeke figured he'd save himself a few bucks and just buy it. The Mrs. Field's bag disgorged a dozen assorted cookies of absolutely no nutritional merit, a desperate ploy to entice Casey to consume a million or so excess calories.

Casey's first response looked like bafflement that anyone would pay so much attention to his preferences. He was staring at Zeke with a luminous face, that face, the one that made Zeke feel immortal. He knew that he was supposed to discourage Casey from looking at him that way, but how could he discourage something that was so perfectly innate? Casey had looked at him that way long before there was a Roy in his life, and Zeke couldn't accept that something that shimmered like that could be entirely wrong. He refused to believe it.

"Can we watch this tonight?" Casey asked him.

Zeke had already prepared himself for this likelihood. "I figured that went without saying. We could even ask Stokes to join us, if you want."

"Oh... sure... She's seen it lots too, but sure."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Mmm?" Casey was distracted, reading the text on the back of the DVD case.

"Why do you love this movie so much?"

Casey looked up. "You don't like it?" he said anxiously.

"No, I do like it, and I'll admit that I wasn't expecting to. Mind you, I don't like it enough to watch it five hundred times. I mean, you must know every single bit of dialogue backwards and sideways."

"It's just... It makes me feel good because it's familiar. I have other ones like that."

"But why? What do you love in this movie? I'm not criticizing – just curious."

The phone, located on one of the end-tables he had purchased from some hole-in-the wall used furniture store because Sasha insisted that they were "vintage", saved Casey from having to produce an answer. Zeke leaned over him to grab it.

"I got it!" Sasha shrieked in Zeke's ear.

"You got the job?"

"Yes, I'm going to be working under the sous-chef in charge of soups and desserts at Sojourn, Oliver said he had a good feeling and wants me to experiment once I get comfortable and I start tomorrow night, I just can't believe it! I need to cook a celebration dinner, I'm going to make some stops on the way home – Casey's okay?"

"He's fine."

"Good, I'll be there in a bit – think we'll have some salmon, you should invite Stokely – and Stan I suppose if he really wants to come I'll leave that up to you, talk to you soon – bye!"

Zeke stared at the now quiescent object in his hand, half expecting it to explode again. "He got the job," he told Casey, rather unnecessarily as Casey had probably been able to hear Sasha's every word without straining his ears at all. "He's cooking dinner. I'm going to pop downstairs and talk to Stokes. I'll just be a sec."

On his way out the door he saw Casey's latest prescription lying on the counter and took it with him.

As much as Zeke didn't like to acknowledge it, Wellth was an intriguing place. There was bin after bin of grains and flours and legumes and varieties of rice that he had never heard of before, and the shelves stocked some of the most exotic condiments he had ever seen. There was also an extensive collection of herbs and spices that Sasha had gotten into the habit of visiting every day, organic produce, dairy alternatives, and a galaxy of holistic healing products. Seeing all these previously unheard-of items had really brought home to Zeke how small-town his existence had been thus far, but he had no intention of letting Stokely know that.

She was currently affixed behind one of the two cash registers; the store was not too busy and there was another cashier so she was able to pause for a quick chat. They stepped just a few feet away, next to the all-natural cosmetics, whereupon Zeke interrogated, "Did you stop in upstairs, then?"

Stokely folded her arms and looked sardonic. "Obsessed, much?"

"I prefer to think of it as follow-through."

"Commander, I can report that at two-twenty I attended upstairs and observed The Subject. He was sleeping, so I didn't stay."

"All right, then."

"Have I earned membership in the elite guard?"

"Just by the skin of your teeth," Zeke replied. "Actually, I'm here to invite you to supper. Sasha's got a job and he wants to celebrate."

"That sounds great – but what's he cooking?"

"I think he said salmon. Acceptable?"

"Farmed or wild?"

"How the frig should I know?"

Stokely winced but said, "Sasha will know. If it's farmed I'll have to skip it."

"Whatever. I should warn you... we're going to watch 'The Philadelphia Story' after."

Stokely groaned, "Oh, Casey!"

"I couldn't see any way around it."

"It's okay, it's only that he made me watch it about twenty times in high school."

"Do you know what the deal is with that movie?"

Stokely shook her head in disbelief. "Zeke, the deal is that he's a total cheeseball. He can't get enough cheese. You haven't figured that out yet?"

"I don't think I buy that," Zeke said in protest.

"He's not going to try to decorate your bedroom with hearts and kittens or anything like that." Stokely eyed up the counter, where a line was forming. "I need to get back to work here."

There was a drugstore on their block; Zeke figured he might as well get the Xanax prescription filled. He ended up waiting twenty minutes, passing the time by identifying the chemical components of the various compounds in the "analgesics" aisle, and then performing a self-administered blood pressure exam. Amazing – he was in the normal range. Then, as he walked past a convenience store, it occurred to him that he should have beer on hand for Casey's dad, so he went in and picked up a case. He felt almost content as he headed home with the beer propped on his shoulder, whistling and dodging people on the sidewalk. He liked being a part of this press of people, feeling like he was at the centre of something.

As he got into their apartment, he had a second to register a presence just inside the door before it became a Casey-sized projectile.

"What's this?" he said, his fragile little euphoria vanishing in the very instant that Casey's body hit his, almost causing a major incident with the beer.

"You left." Casey's voice was shaking, and more than a little frantic.

Zeke quickly put down the object on his shoulder, dislodging Casey momentarily. Straightening, he put his arms around him almost absently. "For half an hour," he said.

"You said 'a sec'."

"Casey... We were apart all day today and you were fine."

"You said 'a sec' and then it was t-ten minutes and I thought maybe you got – you got hurt and I knew exactly when you'd be back before... class ends at three, the bus takes thirty-five minutes – "

And Zeke began to understand exactly what the pattern of his life was going to be. Casey dealt in certainties, he needed them to put on a show of stability. Introduce the unknown and everything fell apart. He couldn't even trust that Casey knew his own limitations; Casey would argue and insist that he was okay and then get pissy when Zeke refused to believe him. So there would be no impromptu bookstore visits or explorations of the city for Zeke. Perhaps a phone call would help but Zeke could allow himself no assumptions. If he'd missed the bus, or made the mistake of going for coffee, what would he have come home to this afternoon?

"Sorry," Zeke apologized, trying to squeeze all the thoughts from his voice. "I just wanted to get this prescription filled, and it took a little bit longer than I expected." He pulled the small white bag out of his coat pocket and moved from the hall to the kitchen, putting it on top of the microwave; later, he would transfer the bottle of pills to the bedroom, where they would be in a position to do the most good. He carefully reconfigured his facial expression before he turned back to Casey.

A strange thing was beginning to happen. It seemed that some ultra-sophisticated transmitting device had been installed in Casey's head, and now Zeke was occasionally privy to what went on in there. The device was not reliable, it faded in and out but sometimes, like right now, he could look at Casey and know what he was thinking as though the words were visibly pouring from him, pooling on the floor in pile of ticker tape. It was repetitive and garbled at times and it all basically added up to: I'm useless, Zeke hates me, I deserve to be alone.

"Casey, stop."

"What?" Casey said, startling out of his internal landscape.

"That stuff you're thinking right now. Stop it."

Casey treated him to a sad, heavy-eyed stare. "What's the point?"

"The point is I don't like it when you do that to yourself."

"All right, then," Casey replied in a monotone.

When he looked at Zeke next, he had cleared the muck out of his eyes. Zeke was well aware that it was just a surface improvement, that Casey's diatribe against himself was merely submerged and not in the least bit silenced. But it was going to take a lot more than commands from Zeke to get him out of those particular mental ruts and grooves.

The remainder of the day unfolded much like an ordinary evening in someone's ordinary life. Sasha breezed in with a few grocery bags, glowing with happiness, and he never came down from his high, rattling non-stop about his new boss, the decor in the restaurant, the menu and what Gourmet had to say about all of the above. The salmon was delicious, and Stokely had decided that it was within her standards to eat it.

After dinner they plugged in the movie. Zeke might have been bored, except that he had Casey plastered to his side. Casey had offered to share the cookies that Zeke had brought him with everyone, but they had all turned him down on various pretexts, and he was now eating them himself. He was agonizingly slow about it, consuming them at a rate of about one per half hour, unconsciously torturing Zeke with his chewing and swallowing and finger-licking and the way there came to be just the tiniest hint of chocolate marring his upper lip. That Casey was unaware of this, or indeed of anything except for Stewart and Hepburn doing it black-and-white style, had Zeke stoked to a fine, hot ache. Every sensory act and moment, however inconsequential, seemed designed to make Zeke forget restraint. He found himself looking down at the top of Casey's head, breathing in the sweet-salt scent of chocolate – or maybe it was just Casey's skin itself – and some gentle, fruity fragrance in his hair. Stewart and Hepburn were on the edge of losing control, drunk on champagne, and Jimmy was over-the-top with emotion. "There's a magnificence in you," he rhapsodized, "A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, that's in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk... You've fires banked down within you... hearthfires and holocausts! You're lit from within!"

"Ah... " sighed Sasha from afar. "If only someone would say that to me."

"Except only Jimmy Stewart can get away with lines like that," Stokely noted.

"I don't seem to made of bronze, then?" Katherine had replied wonderingly.

"No, you're made of flesh and blood, that's the blank, unholy surprise of it. Oh, you're the golden girl, Tracy, full of love and warmth and delight – what goes on, you've got tears in your eyes."

"Shut up, shut up! Oh, Mike, keep talking, keep talking – talk, will you?"

"No, I – I've stopped."

Stokely and Sasha giggled to each other.

The first time he had heard these lines, Zeke hadn't quite been able to stop his eyes from rolling; it was an instinctual, involuntary guy response. This time, though, he was looking down at Casey and could see how his eyes were just on the point of overflow. Zeke ducked his head down and applied his lips at Casey's temple, brushing them down over his ear; he had learned that this was particular hotspot for Casey. He enjoyed the way Casey shivered in response while still staring at the screen where Jimmy's emotions had once more beaten down reason; he had seized Katherine and bent her back for a Hollywood kiss, lips just smashed together in a frozen semblance of passion, but Katherine was moved enough to breathe, "Golly." Meanwhile it seemed to Zeke that all the blood in his body was pulsing somewhere in the vicinity of his crotch. He wished he could press the stop button and kick everyone out, even Sasha, and move this scene to his and Casey's room.

By the time the movie ended, Zeke had regained some composure... at least enough to feel that he could stand up without humiliating himself. Stokes headed off to her unhappy home and Casey went promptly to bed, holding Zeke's promise to join him after the kitchen got cleaned up. Zeke wondered if Casey had considered how many conversations had to wait until he was asleep, and if he slept so much just to be polite and give people their opportunity to say what needed to get said.

"So how did it go today?" Zeke asked Sasha casually while they washed and dried the dishes in a companionable silence. "He didn't tell me much."

"He was pretty jittery – no big surprise there. If I hadn't been there I don't think he would have gone in, and he sure as hell wouldn't have stayed. This Doctor Chakri is very good, though... caring and thorough and she seems to have a way with people."

Score one for Charly.

"Something funny happened after they took his blood, though. He got dizzy, then he started to panic, and then he just went – wonky. He wouldn't let the doctor touch him and he would barely speak to her. And then later in the hair salon he freaked when the guy washed his hair."

"And it continues," Zeke sighed. "He was totally okay when I got home today, just sleeping on the couch. Then I left him for a few minutes and inadvertently it turned into thirty because I wanted to get that prescription filled and when I got back..." During the course of that last sentence his words had gone from bland to bitter, and he felt an urge to account for himself. He confessed out loud, "I'm not angry, I'm just... I keep being overprotective even when it embarrasses him, and then I get impatient when he proves me right."

"So what you're saying is... you're human?"

Zeke smacked Sasha's arm.

"Ouch! Lay off my poor little limb, would ya?" Sasha protested, then immediately got serious. "Zeke, you know it won't always be like this."

"I know," Zeke sighed.

"Still, you probably could be a little less... "

Zeke raised his brows at Sasha. "Overbearing?" he supplied before Sasha could hang himself.

"I was going to say 'dictatorial times a million' but 'overbearing' works too."

"You're one to talk. You're no better than I am, you're just nicer about it."

Sasha batted his eyelashes. "I'll back off if you will. Anyway, Casey hates it when we aren't doing some thing we want to do because of him – like going to a club or the library – or doing your homework, for Christ's sake."

"I know, but then on the other hand he gets upset when I don't show up at the designated time."

"So you set a schedule that includes your student life. If something comes up, you phone him. You are going to have your cell phone?"

"I meant to get it set up... I've been a little preoccupied."

"Well, you can just have an understanding with Casey that you're going to spend your days on campus and he can phone you if there's some emergency. If you had a job that's what you would have to do, and this is your job now. Don't do what Casey did with Roy, letting his whole life revolve around him. It's not good for you and it's not good for Casey."

"I suppose," Zeke grunted.

"Suppose, nothing. You know it. And when you're not here, I'll make sure that Casey gets to all his appointments and does his homework. This is doable, we just need to keep our chins up."

"When did you get to be Pollyanna?"

"Just born that way, can't help it."

"Have I ever said thank you? Thank you."

"Wow, between you and Casey heaping on the gratitude and my newly employed state, this girl's just brimming with affirmation today. Hey, you know what I'm gonna do? I think I'm going dancing."

"Enjoy," Zeke said with a shrug.

"I wish I could bring my friends with me," Sasha pouted. "I'll be all alone."

"Like that's going to stop you."

Sasha pretended to consider this, then said, "Yep, you're right. Okay, I'm going out."

In short order Sasha had gone and Zeke was sitting at the kitchen table with one of his textbooks. He was attempting to read, but the words kept getting lost in surges of sensory information from earlier that evening. He should be in the shower right about now doing his program of self-restraint – but tonight he was not about restraint. Tonight, he was feeling subversive. In fact, he was rethinking his views about the Hedonists – poor, oversexed slobs, maybe they hadn't been so far off base. The mind being able to control the body was an illusion, after all. Somehow the body always, always got its way and the only real choice was whether to let it happen in an honest, straightforward way, or in a way that was convoluted and crippled by imprisonment.

It felt like hours that he was sitting there, bloated with thinking. He needed some way to make it stop and eventually decided to just go to bed. Doing, taking action, that was always the cure for too much intellectual bullshit. Action always had a way of putting things into perspective.

Zeke got up, closed his book and walked directly to the bedroom. Casey was tossing uneasily in his sleep, thrashing and muttering to himself. The sheets and blankets had gotten twisted around his legs and were probably contributing to his distress. Zeke put on his usual sleeping gear and climbed in; he untangled the sheets carefully, and then tried to draw Casey into his arms. It worked at first; Casey was still for a few minutes, but then he began to shove at Zeke.

"Not her," he mumbled. "No, not... her."

This was an unusual development. As far as Zeke knew, Casey didn't have dreams that were memorable one way or the other. He always slept with absolute focus and determination, unless disturbed by a panic attack. Zeke let Casey fight his way free, just listening and waiting to see what would come.

Then Casey said, "Roy..." It was a plea, borne on a whisper of breath. The rest of what he said was buried in an indistinct mumble.

Zeke's stomach started to hurt. Yeah, he could be controlling, and he could be indecisive and he could bullshit like a champion, but on this point he was clear: He was not Roy. Roy was not in Casey's life, Zeke was in Casey's life. Roy was gone and Zeke was here.

"Roy," Casey said again, this time almost in a whimper.

The hurt spread to Zeke's entire body. Dream or no, Casey should not be calling Roy's name. If Casey could dream about Roy then Roy might still have power over Casey and that was not acceptable. It was Zeke who slept with him every night. It was Zeke who held back everything and denied himself for Casey's sake, Zeke who touched Casey with tenderness and caution, Zeke who tried to undo all the past lessons. It was Zeke who was doing the fucking work.

They said that it was a bad idea to wake someone while they were having a dream. Well, they were just going to have to suck it up, because this was not going to continue. Zeke shook Casey lightly and called his name.

"The name's Zeke," he told Casey softly.

Casey's eyes popped open suddenly; in the dark he stared up at nothing, not blinking. Zeke wondered if he knew where he was. Zeke intended to remind him; he ran his thumb and knuckles over Casey's mouth and then his cheek, barely touching him. Casey didn't appear to notice at first – until suddenly his eyes snapped in Zeke's direction and he wanted to know, "Are we alone?"

"Of course," Zeke replied, frowning.

"Is she gone?" Casey asked. "Did you get rid of her?"

"I... don't know who...."

Casey's eyes were an abyss of depthless black ringed by glittering bone white. "She's not going to leave us alone, I thought we were alone, but she's with us... she's inside." There was a laugh, not the characteristic Casey giggle, but something else altogether, something terrifying in its strangeness. "You can't make her go, once she's inside."

"Casey – "

"She... I'm her... I am... her..."

Zeke seized Casey's shoulders, shook him hard. "Casey!"

Casey jerked and choked on air like his lungs had just jump-started. He wheezed plaintively, "Zeke?"

It felt entirely warranted to clutch Casey to his chest. "It's me."

Hands closed on his t-shirt. "Zeke."

"I'm here." Zeke found that he was shaking as much as Casey. "I'm here."

He was expecting it even before it happened, even before Casey kissed him, because his own need was as powerful, dissolving the very concept of restraint. Casey's lips were dry and fever-hot on his; at their touch Zeke threw away caution, discipline, all of it, everything except need. He sealed his mouth with Casey's and was kissing him back so deeply that he was almost grinding Casey's head into the pillow. He was using his entire body to contain and ingest Casey's – and Casey was matching his urgency, moaning into his mouth and fighting to get as deep into Zeke as he could. Miraculously, he was pushing up and in against Zeke with a cock that felt diamond-hard through his and Zeke's boxers. The feel of it was a spike through Zeke's brain, murdering thought.

Zeke's mouth slipped sideways, looking for somewhere else to devour, and resolved on that place between neck and shoulder where he nearly lived some nights. Casey whispered, "Zeke... Zeke..." and just that, just his name – his name – altered the burning ache in his stomach, changing it from pain into that something painfully wonderful.

He had to have more... he pushed Casey up on his side so he could get at the back of him, encountering the spot right at the centre of his neck, moving down... and now there was cotton everywhere. In frustration he pushed Casey's t-shirt up his back, bunching it at his neck. He was so mindless at that point that he would have tried to tear it away, but Casey took control momentarily, sitting up for a moment and quickly pulling his shirt over his head, reaching for Zeke to do the same for him.

They settled back down, skin to skin almost, tangling up their legs. "Zeke..." Casey whispered and was looking right at him too, looking.... looking, not seeing him, there were the same dark pits of eyes from a few minutes ago, a desperate emptiness appealing without speech for Zeke to deliver him. "Want you... want you inside me... please don't say no, please..."

Zeke could have wept.

"I want him out of me, I need you to get him out."

"Casey – "

He was too far along the path of need to completely withdraw. He could be fucking up irrevocably now but that had ceased to matter very much because fucking up had started to feel indescribably good. He tightened his grip on Casey with his legs and arms, and pressed his lips against Casey's forehead, and rocked them both, adjusting the pitch and angle until he had just the right amount of friction between them.

"Need... need him... out of me... Zeke," he heard Casey say, muffled against his chest, his voice catching and breaking a little every time Zeke's cock brushed his, and moving his hips to meet Zeke on each stroke.

"He is... he's gone... " Zeke whispered.

"Not... gone..."

"Yes... " The tension and ache was winding, winding, tightening to its apex and he started to hump faster, losing his awareness of anything else except he knew somewhere in him that Casey was still moving with him. "Yes... " he gasped. "He's gone... say it..."

"He's – he's gone."

"Uh... ah... again..." Those words in Casey's mouth were driving him past any notion of coherence. He was gripping Casey with all his strength, needing Casey to know him, only him...

"He's gone... he's gone..."

He was one half-second from detonation when reality demolished him. Jacked up and almost stupid with pleasure and believing that Casey was a full participant, he noticed just at that moment when it was too late to stop that he could no longer feel Casey's erection – and then he was coming with a loud, choking sob, pressing his head against Casey's shoulder, wet heat spreading out from his cock and his eyes. He didn't know when it had gone from okay to not-okay, he had been too preoccupied, achieving his gratification with something near to violence, trusting that it was all good because Casey was chanting the words that he wanted to hear.

Even after he finished coming there was still the warmth leaking from his eyes, soaking Casey's skin in that place that he loved so much. His entire body was shuddering. He felt Casey's hand against his neck, in his sweat-soaked hair. "It's okay," Casey whispered to him. "It's okay."

He lifted his head, saw Casey's face damp like his, and with eyes still like coal, empty as before. "Casey – " he choked.

"It's okay," Casey said again, almost inaudible.

Zeke brought his hand up, stroked some of the salty wet from around Casey's eyes. He didn't know what he was going to say when he opened his mouth. He expected that he would be apologizing but what came out was something else altogether. "I do love you," he said.

This brought a ghost of a smile to Casey's face.

"You believe me, don't you?"

The smile faded. "Yeah, I do," Casey said, and he put his head against Zeke's shoulder.

"I... didn't mean for it to happen like that, Case. I thought... I really thought you were with me... "

"I'm sorry," Casey's voice said, tiny.

"Fuck that! Do you hear me trying to apologize right now?"

"Yes... but you... It did feel good, Zeke. It was just at the end... I lost it."

Zeke closed his eyes. He was exhausted and sweaty and extremely uncomfortable and he felt sick inside thinking about what he had just done. He wanted to shower but he didn't dare leave the bed even for ten minutes.

"Can we go to sleep now, please?" Casey asked him, still hiding his eyes from Zeke.

 

Upon the arrival of morning, Casey was sprawled in a restless doze, while for Zeke there had been no sleep at all. He had to be on campus for an eight-thirty class and he didn't want to wake Casey, so he tried to be quiet as he slipped out of bed to shower, peeling off his boxers with relief. He had never experienced this level of shame about his own orgasm before; the incident in the shower yesterday morning was an emotional flyspeck by comparison. After a very quick shower he got dressed with one eye on Casey, who had shifted and curled into a little ball in the warm spot Zeke had left behind. Zeke leaned over and kissed Casey somewhere between cheekbone and eyelid before stealing out of the room.

Zeke was standing in the middle of the kitchen gulping down a bowl of cereal when he turned about and found Casey standing like a phantom behind him; he leaped half a foot into the air, exclaiming, "Fuck!"

"Where are you going?" Casey asked, purple-smudged eyes fastened on him.

"To school," Zeke replied neutrally. He put his bowl on the counter.

"When do you get back?"

"Classes end at two."

"Right," Casey said, possibly remembering that he should have known that already. He was blinking a bit too fast and too hard.

"I'll come right back after that," Zeke promised him.

"Okay."

"Maybe... try to get in a rest this afternoon." When Casey said nothing, Zeke added, "You remember we have to go pick up your parents at the airport?"

"Yeah."

"When does their flight get in again?"

"I don't know."

Zeke knew that it had been written on a piece of paper that was now magnetized to the fridge along with the instructions from Casey's doctor. He referred to it quickly. "Five forty-seven. I figure we should leave before five, just to be safe."

Casey didn't say a word.

Zeke's head gave a throb, and his eyes burned. "Casey – " he said.

"Go," Casey told him.

"We agreed I shouldn't skip class – "

"I want you to go," Casey said hoarsely.

Zeke had to look somewhere else. He couldn't bear to see what it was costing Casey to be standing there saying what he was saying. His face was screaming Get the fuck out! even as it was begging Don't leave don't leave!. Zeke could only obey one of those messages, and he chose the one that would get him away from here long enough to regain some equilibrium.

"Okay, then," he said. He went for his jacket, his backpack, the door, and the bus, calling himself every synonym for coward that he knew.

All morning he could think of nothing except the magnitude of his many mistakes, the most recent of which was probably leaving Casey there in the kitchen. Around lunchtime he tried to phone Casey but got no answer. He hoped that meant that Casey and Sasha were out doing something healthy. After his class ended at two, Zeke went directly home.

He found Casey sitting quietly on the couch, watching his movie; Zeke's initial relief faded quickly as he took in the consequences of his actions.

Casey had turned off the DVD player, his hand trembling visibly even from a few feet away, and he welcomed Zeke with a bright smile that was fraying badly around the edges. Above the smile his eyes were blank and set in deep shadows. It seemed quite conceivable that when Zeke had phoned earlier and there was no answer, it was because Casey had decided to spend the day completely inhabiting Jimmy and Katherine's world. But Sasha had been around, he wouldn't let that happen, would he? Zeke was eager to have Sasha tell him he was being paranoid – but Sasha was refusing to speak to him. All Zeke got from Sasha was a hot glare as he was going out the door to his first night in his new job.

Zeke approached Casey then, wanting to talk about what had happened the night before, but Casey begged off saying he needed to sleep a bit. They ended up napping in the bedroom for a few hours. Again, Casey slept; again, Zeke did not. He lay there holding Casey and studying the silence in the apartment.

Right about the time Zeke was thinking of waking Casey up, the phone rang. Zeke scrambled to the living room to get it.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Zeke sat heavily on the couch. He had known that at some point Sasha's wrath would be visited upon him, but he hadn't expected it to come in this format. "Do you really want to hear about it right at this moment?" he responded.

"No, I guess I can't... I just needed to tell you off."

"Gee, thanks, I really need to feel like more of a prick right now."

Sasha got quiet. Then, sounding a bit less like he wanted to beat Zeke to a pulp, he said, "We're going to be having some serious discussion, you and I."

"Sasha... What did Casey say to you?"

"Nothing. Not a fucking word." Sasha spoke to someone briefly at the other end. "I have to go now. You're going to get his parents soon, yes?"

"Yes," Zeke sighed.

"Well, good luck with that."

Sasha clicked off, and Zeke just sat there for a little while contemplating the ceiling.

A terrible crash roused him from his stupor. He charged to the kitchen and discovered Casey standing amidst the broken shards of one of the drinking glasses that had been left to dry in the dish rack beside the sink. Casey's expression defied classification, the emotions that Zeke saw there were so varied and so extreme. Anger was definitely among them, and fear... and despair. The evidence was incontrovertible: The glass had not fallen by accident.

Zeke grabbed the broom and swept the broken pieces away from Casey's feet, into a small pile that he decided he would pick up later. There was no time to sort through everything; they needed to be leaving for the airport right now or they would be late.

"Casey," Zeke said, making his voice as calm as he could manage. "I think you should take one of those pills."

"Why?" Casey forced out the one syllable on a choppy exhale of breath, shifting his weight from one jittering leg to the other while he stared at Zeke, his breath ragged, his eyes wide and moist.

"We have to go to the airport. I think you would be more comfortable."

Zeke waited for Casey to remember that his parents' visit was imminent.

No doubt when Dr. Chakri prescribed the Xanax she had not been thinking about how they could use it to preserve appearances for Casey's parents – but to Zeke's relief, Casey appeared to have no reservations about it. "Okay," he agreed.

Zeke got the bottle from the bedroom. He shook out one tiny white pill and offered it to Casey, who swallowed it eagerly, evidently wanting a parole from the prison of his own mind. They got into the car and drove, both of them waiting, without conversation, for the pill to take effect. Zeke kept a sideways eye on Casey, observing as the tremors and tension gradually lessened. By the time they arrived at the airport Casey's body had calmed, and his eyelids were starting to look too heavy to hold up.

Pulling into temporary parking, Zeke hoped he wouldn't have trouble getting Casey to move. He leaned over and touched his shoulder. "Hey."

He was pleased to learn that Casey was still conscious. "Hey," Casey said back, and smiled. The smile was a bit wan, a bit shaky, but it was absolutely fucking genuine; it smashed through Zeke's defences and grabbed him by the balls. "Hi, Zeke..."

"How do you feel?"

Casey blinked in slow motion. "I want to sleep."

"Can you hold that off for a while?"

"Yeah... I really like this drug, Zeke."

Zeke had to laugh. "I think I like it, too."

"Where 're we?"

"At the airport?"

"Already? I must've missed the exit... Hey, Mom and Dad are here, we should go meet them now."

"That was my intention." Zeke watched Casey fumble with his seatbelt. "You know it's probably going to be packed with people in there."

"s'okay."

"It's okay?" Zeke echoed, disbelieving.

"Well, I still think the aliens are going to get me, but I kinda don't really care."

And just like that, Zeke was born again. He worshipped the goddess Xanax.

His status as devotee was confirmed when Casey's parents came through the arrivals gate and Casey gave each of them a warm if not entirely exuberant hug, looking like a reasonably well-adjusted person being reunited with his family. Frank and Allison Connor were neatly flummoxed, turning awestruck to Zeke with What have you done with my son? shouting from them. They probably wouldn't have been so impressed if they had known the answer. Nothing much, just drugged him silly. Right now, though, Zeke's conscience was not capable of so much as a twinge.

"You finally got your hair cut," Casey's mom noticed immediately. "It looks great, hon."

"Thanks," Casey said with a shrug.

"Good to see you, Zeke," she added politely.

Zeke made appropriate noises in response and offered to take her suitcase. Casey's dad surrendered the usual handshake, his countenance neutral; Zeke supposed that this must be deemed a huge step forward. He led them to the parking lot and the Mustang. Casey and his mom took the back seat and they departed the airport with the usual tension already thickening around them.

"Where's Sasha?" asked Allison Connor.

"He's working," Zeke replied. "He got a position in a snazzy restaurant... Tonight's his first night in fact. He won't be back until late."

"Oh," she said, disappointed.

"He's an under chef," Casey volunteered, with a lazy half-giggle.

It got really quiet, and Zeke could think of nothing except the fact that there were three whole days left to go with this visit. From his right side he could feel Casey's dad trying out his gallery of disapproving faces.

"I thought maybe I could take everyone out for dinner," announced Mr. Connor. "We haven't eaten yet. Maybe we could go to this place that Sasha works at."

Zeke had a feeling that Connor didn't know the financial magnitude of what he was proposing. "I think you need reservations," he offered as an out. Casey hadn't said anything, but Zeke could hear the plea ringing in his head: Don't make me, please! He added, "They're probably full for tonight."

"On a Thursday night?"

"Probably." Zeke cast about for an alternative. "How about... there's a place very near where we live... It's just across the street and a few blocks down. It's basic but good food. It's quick too. I think everyone's a little tired."

"I know I am," sighed Casey's mom.

Mr. Connor addressed a question to the back seat. "You look a bit tired, too, Casey. Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Oh, yes!" Casey replied. It was so forced and artificial-sounding that Connor would have no choice but to believe the exact opposite of whatever Casey told him. "I'm always sleeping."

"Not enough, apparently."

"Last night... wasn't a good night."

Zeke's heart skipped a beat.

"Hmph," said Mr. Connor, audibly letting it alone.

It was surreal, to say the least, eating dinner with Casey and his parents at the Bayside Diner in Seattle. Casey started to lose ground very quickly, picking at his food, his mellow glow withering. After a quick meal they returned home. The Connors' luggage was installed in Sasha's room, and now Zeke was facing several hours that needed to get filled without much help from Casey.

In the end, he resorted to putting on the baseball game, and was surprised when Casey's mom was as keen to watch it as her husband. She also could match him beer for beer; before he knew it, Zeke and Casey's parents had put away ten beers between them, and Zeke was profoundly grateful to the intuition – or whatever it had been – that had reminded him to stock the fridge the day before. While this was going on, Casey was gradually succumbing to the goddess Xanax, and exhaustion. Around nine, he roused himself long enough to say good-night to his parents and go to bed.

Zeke followed him not long after. He had been thinking about staying up until Sasha got home but just couldn't manage it; he hadn't slept for forty-eight hours or more. He expected that the Connors wouldn't last much longer either; Herrington being three hours ahead of Seattle, they were well past their bedtime. He showed them where the towels were, leaving them in charge of the remote, and ignoring their pained expressions at being reminded of what they didn't want to know in the first place: Oh, shit, it's actually true... Our son is gay and his friend is gay and they're going to do gay things in their gay bedroom.

It might have been some comfort to them that nothing was going to be going on in the bedroom tonight except for sleep. Casey was a still, quiet shape; Zeke collapsed beside him and knew nothing until morning. It was some of the best sleep he'd had in weeks.

He woke up to Casey lying almost nose-to-nose with him, watching him with a peaceable face that was almost disturbing given everything that had passed between them. "Zeke," Casey began quietly.

"Mmm."

"I'm sorry about yesterday, and... and the night before."

Zeke stretched, shaking himself to a state of full wakefulness. Casey had determined that they were talking about this now, so he had better be up to it. And he was up to it; he had screwed up to be sure, but he was ready to atone. "You have nothing to apologize for," he stated.

Casey seemed to be thinking, considering before he answered. "I don't... um... I'm not sure what happened."

"You don't remember?"

"No... I remember, I just... I don't know why I said... things."

"I think it started with something you were dreaming. Do you remember that?"

Casey shook his head. It seemed to Zeke that if he were to look closely there would be a gleam of fear in Casey's eyes, and Zeke simply didn't know if Casey was telling the truth or not. Come to think of it, he wasn't sure that he believed anything Casey had said to him just now. Not that Casey would lie to him out of some malicious intent. He would lie because he wanted to believe that he was speaking the truth.

"Hmm," Zeke said. "But I still lost control. I violated the rules and it was a really bad time to violate the rules."

With a sigh, Casey leaned in and rested his head against Zeke. "It isn't fair... I want us to be happy one of these days but I'm always... making everything crazy. We can never be like normal people, and.... and I realized something yesterday. I'm afraid – "

"You don't have to be – "

"I'm afraid to be normal."

Zeke closed his mouth before any words could slip out of him. He needed to take caution -- because his heart was actually pounding with joy. Casey was not saying I don't know how or I'm afraid I can't. He was very nearly saying I don't want to, yet still he seemed to think that he was supposed to aspire to the ordinary. And Zeke sure as fuck didn't want Casey to be ordinary. He adored Casey's strangeness, his unusual looks, his downright weirdness at times. He suspected that once Casey started interacting with the world again, his singularity would knock people on their ass. It would scare some of them and enchant others. Not everyone would be able to appreciate Casey, but that was just fine by Zeke.

"Who needs normal?" Zeke said lightly. "Not me, anyway. I hope you don't think I'm normal, I'd be insulted."

"Okay, not normal," Casey revised himself. "Wrong word."

"Stan is normal, your mom and dad are normal. They're nice enough, but I'm not really interested in them... I'm interested in you."

"I know that," Casey said softly. "I just wish I could be different the way you want and – and – not such a fruit loop all the time."

Meaningful conversation fell by the wayside; Zeke felt a grin split his face from ear to ear. "Did you just say 'fruit loop'?" he asked.

Casey looked slightly abashed. "Yeah, I did." Then he started to giggle, and Zeke was snickering along with him.

"You may be a fruit loop," he smirked. "... but you're my fruit loop."

"Please... Forget I said that – "

"I will... but you're just too funny... fruit loop."

"Zeke."

"Okay..." Zeke swallowed the last of his laughter, needing to get back to the serious. "Casey. Don't ever be normal – whatever that is." He saw Casey's eyes shining still and he took hold of him, putting on his best Jimmy Stewart. "There's a magnificence in you, Casey, that's in your...um, your mouth, in your hair, your eyes, in the way you stand there – "

"No way," Casey said, but the light had spread to his entire face. He was wearing the biggest smile Zeke had seen on him, bigger than the one he had worn the day that Gabe collided with Coach Willis during football practice and they both fell flat on their backs like slapstick characters.

" – you're lit from within... you've got fires banked down in you... holocausts and hearthfires!" He shook Casey for emphasis; it seemed appropriate to the occasion, and anyway, Jimmy had done it.

Casey didn't laugh, he looked into Zeke's eyes, not afraid, not hiding. "You got it backwards," Casey said.

"Whatever." Zeke shrugged. "You still get the gist, right?"

For the first time that Zeke could recall, Casey moved to kiss Zeke, just to kiss him, not to make some attempt to entice him to participate in acts of mutual destruction. It was merely a soft pressure of his lips, an mesmerizing combination of tentative and tender. "I still get the gist," Casey said, his voice very soft.

 

Scraping off the morning's stubble, Zeke winced slightly as Sasha's voice bounced down the hallway.

" – give an old man a break, would you! You forget I worked a nightshift." Sasha was complaining in the living room, as far from the bathroom as you could get in their apartment and his voice was travelling with a vengeance. The Connors would hear him... People in Portland would be able to hear him. He was worse than an alarm clock.

Zeke surveyed himself in the mirror, wiping off a bit of shaving cream. There was something different about his face today... oh, yeah, he was happy. He actually smiled like an idiot while he was getting dressed. As he walked to the living room, he made an effort to beat the smile down a bit.

Sasha was spread out on the couch, his feet dangling over the end, and Casey was sitting right at the end of it with Sasha's legs across his lap.

"How'd it go?" Zeke asked Sasha, gambling that Sasha was speaking to him once again.

"It was a madhouse, and they just threw me in feet first." Sasha yawned. If he was holding anything against Zeke, it didn't show at the moment. Of course, there would have to be a complete debriefing later; that went without saying. "My feet are killing me but it was good."

"What time did you get back?"

"About twelve-thirty. Some nights could be earlier, most will be later – so you guys are going to have to let me sleep in once in a blue." He looked up and behind Zeke. "Oh, hi, Allison!"

"I thought I heard your voice," said Casey's mother. Impossibly, she was wearing a nightgown and a housecoat. Zeke had never seen such items on a real live person before.

"It does tend to echo to the furthest reaches of our apartment," he remarked.

"Oh, ha ha!" Sasha countered. "Okay, you guys have caught me in my jams, here. Let me go get dressed." He was up and off as though worried they might catch a glimpse of the tiny patch of skin that was showing where the top button of his pajamas was unfastened.

"Morning, honey," said Casey's mother to her son, dropping into the arm-chair.

"Morning," Casey replied, eyes on Zeke. "You didn't want the shower?" he asked Zeke, his message something slightly different than his words; no special surveillance devices were needed to interpret this one. Zeke was more than willing to accept the implied invitation, but there was the slight problem of Casey's mother being in the room.

"Nah, go ahead," Zeke mumbled, trying not to sound disgruntled. Casey flashed a come-hither in his direction before heading to the shower – alone, dammit. Even worse, Zeke was now in the position of having to make conversation with Casey's mother. "So what's on the agenda today?" he asked neutrally.

"We'd like to take Casey shopping," she returned.

"Didn't you do that before he left?"

"Yes, but there are still things he needs... and some banking business we need to take care of. And we're going to get him a computer. We noticed you don't have one here."

"I was getting around to that..."

"You boys can share this one if you want. Casey has one at home but it's very old. He'll need a new one when he goes back to school."

Zeke was beginning to have a new appreciation for the uses of parents.

Mrs. Connor stretched languorously. "I'm going to go get dressed too," she announced. Standing up, she added, "You boys really need a coffee maker."

With a blink at the non sequitur, Zeke followed her part of the way, thinking to go up on the roof for a smoke. As he passed by their dining table, a small pile of envelopes caught his eye. "Mrs. C? Did you leave these here?"

"Yes, they're Casey's mail. There's something from the university there, I thought it was probably important." The woman presented a sly smile. "You can call me Allison, Zeke." She disappeared down the hall.

Zeke was staring down at the letter on the top of the pile, a plain, white envelope, addressed to Casey in black ink. The sender, according to the return address, was Mr. D. Windle.

It took only an instant for Zeke's soul to shrivel.

Before he could consider what he was doing, he had snatched up the letter and stuffed it in the pocket of his jacket, which was hanging on the back of the front door a few steps away. He stood there for a while, his mind completely blank, until down the hall he heard the shower being turned off. He grabbed his jacket and tore the kitchen door open, stumbling up the stairs to the roof.

It was a bit of a chill morning so he wouldn't have to explain having his jacket with him if anyone should come up. Collapsing into one of the wicker chairs, he pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Thoughts began to turn and tumble in his head, running around in their pen, getting nowhere fast.

Casey probably had no idea that Roy had written to him. It wasn't his fault, so there was no excuse for this vague feeling of blame towards Casey. Nor was it Allison's fault for not wondering about what was obviously a personal fucking letter from fucking Cincinnati – even if she should have heard the name Windle before and was it so improbable that a few neurons could have fired before she just dropped that piece of mail on him like a bomb... no, no, no... It was an innocent mistake. Anyone could have done it. Zeke wouldn't have, but... well, he'd have to let that go.

But hold on – Casey most likely had no idea that Roy had written him. It was just possible that Casey had written Roy a letter before leaving Herrington, and Roy was writing back. Was Casey expecting, hoping to get that response? Had he come to Seattle with the possibility of rescue as a guarantee in his back pocket? Maybe he was even wondering if his parents had brought him a letter, he might ask and then Allison might say, oh, there were three letters here, not two, where did the other go?

A fact was a fact. Roy still had power over Casey. Zeke wished he could believe otherwise, but he couldn't. Even if Casey wasn't interested in going back to Roy, the letter could hurt him. It would set them back, it could not possibly be anything that would help them.

He could just burn the letter. He could, couldn't he, on the grounds that it was the best thing for Casey. Casey need never know about it, never see it. He had begged Zeke to help get Roy out of him... well, this qualified, didn't it? And Casey had placed himself in Zeke's care. But if Zeke did burn the letter, and Casey ever found out, that might just be the end of their relationship. Casey was too forgiving for his own good, but he could and did get pissed off. He was entitled to closure, and he was entitled to make his own decisions – wasn't he? Yes... Zeke had recently had ample demonstration of what could happen when he presumed to make major decisions on Casey's behalf without telling him.

Interim measures. He would hang onto the letter. He would think. He didn't want to create any more emotional upheaval while Casey's parents were here and the three days would give him time to enlist Sasha, get his advice. Problem was, he already knew what Sasha was going to say; he had a little Sasha inside his head yammering away... You're scared and you're jealous and if you do this you'll be no better than Roy... You'll be Roy –

"You realize that it's raining."

Zeke jumped like a criminal caught at the scene. Casey was standing across from him looking somewhat diffident, somewhat playful, and just too fucking ethereal to be believed. He informed Zeke, "Sasha said to tell you he's making a breakfast you'll love. He also said 'tell him to stop his damn brooding and get down here'."

It was indeed raining but just slightly; there was a sheen of condensation on Zeke's clothing that hadn't yet soaked in. His hand was shaking quite visibly, and there were three new butts in the ashtray. He had chain-smoked three cigarettes and had no memory of it.

"I think your folks want to take you shopping," Zeke said. "They want to buy you a computer."

Casey's eyes got a little brighter at that, but he started to jitter anxiously, shifting his weight. "We could buy a computer over the phone."

"Your mom wants to shop for clothes too. You'll have Sasha with you, I'm sure."

"Not you?"

"It's not that I don't want to go with you, but I have classes. I would go, otherwise."

Casey said, valiantly attempting to be lighthearted, "Right, because I know how much you love shopping with my parents."

"More than life itself, but we won't all fit in the car. You four can take it – and maybe you should take one of those pills before you go."

"They make me sleepy."

"Better sleepy than panicky, right?"

"Dr. Chakri said – "

"All right, be scared then."

Zeke didn't quite snap, but he knew the second that he said it that Casey had heard it at twenty times normal volume. His eyes didn't water up, but he stared at Zeke as if he had been struck, the sparkle of mere moments ago completely extinguished.

"Case – " Zeke began.

"I'll take the pill," Casey said hastily.

Zeke got to his feet, holding a hand out to him. "That's your call, and I'm sorry, Case. I just worry about you when I'm not with you."

Casey nodded, agreeing with Zeke as soon as he could. Zeke pulled him to his chest, his arms so tight around Casey's ribcage that breathing had to be put on hold until he was ready to let Casey go.

The breakfast was everything that Sasha had promised, but Zeke could barely choke it down. He was giving everything away, all eyes were on him – Casey's eyes, mainly, hugely asking him what he had done wrong. Sasha's eyes, telling him to prepare himself for some serious ass-kicking. And the parental eyes, accusing Zeke of doing something to their son, although what it was no one could muddle out. But finally all the eyes were gone and Zeke was alone. He went back up on the roof, finding that the rain had already stopped.

He sat up there all afternoon, the letter a burning coal in his pocket.


	11. Chapter 11

"Score!" exclaimed Sasha, rubbing his hands with gleeful lust as he took in the retail splendour before him. "Oh, how I've been looking forward to this... Operation Wardrobe will now commence."

Casey wondered how Sasha couldn't see that the entrance to the mall was not an innocent point of access but actually a toothless cavity, luring victims into its very bowels. It was a pastel and glass monster. Staring into it, Casey had that thought that had been beating him stupid all morning: Zeke had been right.

He should have taken the pill. At the very least, he could have brought one with him for when he really needed it – but he had chosen to screw himself over instead. Right through breakfast and up until they left the apartment and it was too late, a tiny voice in his head had insisted But it will make me sleepy. It really would, and he wouldn't be able to make much of a pretense of normalcy, Mom and Dad would think he was a drooling mess and they would get even more displeased with the situation than they already were and go home thinking he was doomed.

Which he was, anyway. He was walking into the dreadful maw on his own power now, fully expecting that he would never again enjoy the perfume of the Mustang's leather seats, or Zeke's hands on him, or a movie on the colossal screen in their living room. He would never find out if a science fiction movie could win an Oscar – yet a tiny, white pill could have saved him from this demise.

Zeke had tried to warn him, he had known what would happen once Casey was out of the protected space of home. All right, be scared then. There had been real anger there, as real and physical as Zeke's clenched fists and the dismissive angle of his head. Amazing to think that it had been an entirely different sort of day until that moment when Zeke's voice and posture told him no, no, no, you fool, this is not "that" kind of day, it is "this" kind of day and you should know better. Up until that moment Casey had been nursing a slight, sickly feeling inside his chest that had been — well, he didn't dare say happy. Nice. Pleasing. Until Zeke reminded him that he had no right to feel such things. He was totally fucked up, after all, and naturally Zeke didn't like to see him scared, Zeke didn't want to be constantly managing crisis. So Zeke was right. He should have taken the pill. The pill gave him nice feelings too, feelings he was actually entitled to have.

Of course, if he had taken the pill there would have been no way to stay on track while they were at the bank, setting up his new savings account. They had gone to a bank that was in the neighbourhood and within walking distance of the apartment because his father was old-fashioned about his money; it wasn't real unless Frank Connor could see it and touch it and although he used automated tellers for various transactions, he liked to take his biweekly paycheck to his branch for deposit, always keeping some cash on hand. Casey felt no emotional imperative to keep cash. To him, money was an electronic symbol that bounced around between zero and a three-digit whole number. Interest rates and transaction fees couldn't possibly matter that much. Still, his parents had to be hopeful that this banking enterprise would usher in a new era of autonomy for him, so he made himself pay attention while the man in his little cubicle was going through the options for types of accounts – at least, sufficient attention that he could sound credible when he picked one of them at random.

When they were finished at the bank, there had been discussion about where to shop. At that point there was a consultation of The Tourist's Guide to Seattle, followed by the selection of a large mall in the suburbs. Then they were on their way, and listening to Sasha and his dad quibble over the route was almost enough to make Casey laugh out loud. His dad seemed to believe that fags were inherently without a sense of direction, and therefore could only get lost while driving even if they were driving to a shopping mall. If he could have, his father would probably have seized the wheel, but Zeke's offer of the car had been directed expressly to Sasha. Someday, presumably, Casey would have the same opportunities, but first Zeke had to finish teaching him to drive.

Once they were flying down the expressway and there was nothing left for his dad to dispute as to navigation, his mom had lured Sasha into an information session about his doctor visit, with his dad listening avidly. Casey had little to say as Sasha outlined the list of decrees from Dr. Chakri. He was trying not to dwell on his next appointment, where he would no doubt be poked and prodded a lot more than he wanted to be. His main consolation was that he would probably not make it through today alive, so he needn't get worked up about going to the doctor again just yet.

Of course it was ridiculous to fear a shopping mall, just like all of his fears were ridiculous – but knowing that he was ridiculous didn't actually help. He knew the thoughts that he was supposed to think about things; he could have recited them – as long as his mind wasn't blanking out from fear – but they weren't anything that he could believe in. Reason couldn't touch him.

The structure was like most newer malls, very spacious with plenty of air and light. Not exactly teeming with people – but busy, and the shoppers did exhibit a tendency to run in unpredictable patterns. There were no guidelines here. People could be coming up behind and in front and sideways at all once, from behind the various types of plastic foliage placed at intervals in an attempt to give the place a natural feel, and they could come from around the clothing racks and between the kiosks too. Within his first minute in the place, Casey found that every muscle in his body was clenched, his skin twitching all over like it wanted to grow eyes. Why hadn't he taken the pill? Yes, Zeke was right, he was always right and Casey wanted to run home to him and tell him, Zeke had to be right because Casey was so wrong all the time –

Sasha's hand was a warm pressure on Casey's arm. "Okay, kitten?" he asked.

Casey nodded, not trusting himself to speak. They had used the mall entrance near Penney's, not coincidentally by any means. His mom had always shopped there and she was already eyeing up the front of the store, where racks of women's clothing were assembled.

"I think I'll go check out the hardware section," his dad announced promptly. "How about I meet you somewhere in a couple of hours?"

"Fine," his mom said, accustomed to this sort of arrangement. She took one purposeful step in the direction of Penney's.

"How about we meet outside Old Navy?" Sasha suggested quickly.

Casey's dad nodded to Sasha and moved off. Casey watched him go enviously, wishing he could disappear too. Just like the hardware department for his father, there had to be somewhere that was right for Casey to hide. There had to be lots of bathrooms in this place, but he didn't know where they were just yet, he should be consulting one of the "You are here" maps before his brain short-circuited altogether – but it was too late now, his mom was in high gear, leading them into the department store and to the men's clothing section, checking over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure they were following. She began to scout the racks, absorbed in her work, while Sasha threw a pained half-smile at Casey, blatantly wanting a chance to intervene.

"What do you think of this, hon?" Casey's mom asked, holding up a striped rugby-style shirt.

Casey opened his mouth to reply, but Sasha immediately jumped in. "Allison, you can't do this to your own offspring."

"What do you mean?" she said, looking a trifle wounded.

"I mean you can't make Casey wear that."

"He always liked these sort of things before."

"He was probably just being nice to his mother."

"Casey?" his mom prompted, still waving the abominable shirt around.

"Come on, kitten," Sasha urged. "Tell her."

Both parties had appealed to Casey for judgment yet he could see that they were wanting him to get into the spirit of things just as much as they wanted him to decide in their favour.

"Mom," he said. "It's time you knew the truth." It came out a little more dire than he had intended and his mother got a look like her stomach was in her shoes. He added without delay, "I'm stylin' now."

The outbreak of laughter was gratifying. In fact, his mom was so pleased by his joke that she willingly accepted the veto on all department stores and moved on to more fashionable shops. Realizing that Casey's parents were not terribly wealthy, Sasha was quite content with The Gap and Old Navy, and while Casey had never given much thought to what he wore before Roy, he couldn't say he wasn't a bit relieved now. He still didn't care a whole lot, except that it made Sasha happy to dress him up, and he certainly didn't mind giving Zeke more reasons to look at him.

Casey spent the next hour and a half in change rooms, trying on item after item that his mom and Sasha would throw over the top of the door. The booths were just enough like a bathroom stall that he could consider them a refuge – even if, in fact, he had trapped himself in a little box surrounded by strangers. He squandered his stores of energy just not thinking about that, and it helped that he had guardians outside. Fretting about Zeke was a very useful distraction too. Still, his nerves were screaming long before they were finished. When they finally met up with his dad, Casey placed himself half inside the semi-circle of Sasha and his parents, using their bodies as barriers. Sasha understood as always, putting an arm around his shoulder, creating a buffer from the every-directional stream of people around them.

Casey's mom wasn't ready to leave yet, though. "Who wants to get a bite to eat?" she asked.

"In the food court?" Sasha remarked, with his usual sort of grimace.

"Casey?" she pressed. "We did miss lunch."

"Still full from breakfast," Casey said, and that was mostly true. It had been late, more brunch than breakfast, and completely Zeke-centric: pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, potatoes. Now it was all lying uneasily in Casey's stomach. He wasn't exactly nauseous, but he didn't want to eat either.

"Are we done here, then?" his dad wanted to know, with a quick glance at him.

"Well... " his mom hedged. "There are still some things. He needs a heavier coat and boots, for one."

"I'm sure that can wait," his dad suggested. "It isn't exactly winter conditions out there yet."

"No..." replied his mom doubtfully. "Then there's the computer."

"I hate to be a party pooper," Sasha interjected. "But I'll need to get to work by three-thirty, four at the absolute latest."

"Okay," conceded Casey's mom. "We'll deal with the computer tomorrow, I guess."

They were leaving, Casey sang to himself as they walked out. It was the most brilliant melodic hook... leaving, leaving, leaving the mall now... leaving, leaving... going home... He had survived one more outing. There were tears of relief in his eyes as they navigated the parking lot. Fuck, but he was pathetic, and Zeke was absolutely and unconditionally right. He should have taken the pill.

Traffic was a bit heavy, so it took close to an hour to get back downtown. Sasha was getting agitated, worrying about making it to work on time; the moment the car was in its parking spot around the back of the building, he was out the door and running up to the apartment. Casey and his parents followed behind, each lugging several shopping bags up the metal stairs to the door, where they ran into Zeke, wearing his jacket and holding his keys. "I'm going to give Sasha a ride to work," he informed them.

"Two minutes!" shrieked Sasha from somewhere in the apartment. Casey's parents pushed their way past Zeke, intent on depositing the bags somewhere within, probably in Casey's room; his dad took the bags that he was holding off his hands while he remained standing in the doorway. He was blocking the way out, but his feet didn't want to move.

Whatever-It-Was from this morning was still there. Zeke would not look at Casey for more than a second at a time, and when he did, Casey felt anything but comforted. Trying to think of some neutral way to open a dialogue, Casey asked, "How was class?"

"I didn't go," Zeke said, his voice rasping. Either he had suddenly come down with a cold, or he had been smoking a lot today.

"Wh - why not?"

"I didn't feel like it."

Casey located a reserve of courage and questioned, "Why, I thought you weren't going to – "

Zeke snapped at him, "It's my money and my time, Case. I just didn't feel like going is all."

See, there was no point to trying to confront things. Trying was too much grief for too little return. It wasn't worth it to assert yourself because some people would never give you the response you needed. They wouldn't say Oh, I see, Casey, you are asserting yourself here and I will respect that... so I will now convey my own opinion in a controlled, understanding tone. I will not lash out because you are doing this thing that is so wildly out of character but rather they would say what do you think you're doing and you don't say no to me.

"Did you get everything you needed?"

Casey realized, belatedly, that Zeke was speaking to him. Casey yanked his head up and said, "Almost."

"A computer?"

"Not yet."

Now Zeke was staring at him, grinding him down under his eyes. It went on and on, until Casey was ready to do anything to make it stop.

Zeke abruptly raised a new subject. "Charly phoned a little while ago. She invited us all to her house tomorrow for dinner."

Casey blinked, trying to discern the meaning of this.

"That's all of us, your parents too," Zeke added. "I said we would go."

Zeke was trying to tell him that he'd... Casey gaped at Zeke in disbelief. "You said... we would...?"

"I did."

"S-Stan and Stokes, will they...?"

"Yes, Stan will be there."

"Where's that?" asked his mom, coming up behind Zeke.

Zeke answered over his shoulder. "Stan's Aunt Charly. She was the one who offered him a job here. She's been itching to get us all together... I guess with you guys in town it was the perfect opportunity. She invited us, and you, to her house tomorrow night."

The picture was horrendous ... Being in Charly's domain, with his parents, Stokely and Stan, and Zeke, each with their different demands, their different personalities and their different approaches to causing stress. The words I can't took hold of Casey. He tried to think of a way to say it without sounding as pitiful as he actually was, and came out with, "Zeke... I don't know if...."

Sasha came rushing down the hall, wearing his white chef's smock with a trendy scarf. "Gotta go, gotta go... bye, kitten... bye, Allison... come on, Zeke..."

"Tell me later," Zeke said to Casey. He moved Casey out of the way, careful as ever but with impersonal haste. "Okay, I won't be long."

The door shut in Casey's face, and Casey came to the horrifying realization that he was going to start crying right there in front of his parents.

 

There was a mountain of ash in front of Zeke when the phone rang, sounding dimly up the stairs from the kitchen and through the door to the roof. By then, his throat was paved with gravel, his lungs aching. He almost didn't make the effort to go down and answer it, but it occurred to him that it could be Sasha or Casey in a state of emergency. Zeke scurried down the stairs, trying to find the cordless phone. He answered on the seventh ring. "Hello!"

"Oh, hi, Zeke, I was about to hang up... It's Charly."

He didn't care if she heard his irritated sigh. "Yeah?"

"I understand from Stokely that Casey's parents are in town."

"Yes."

"I'd like to invite you all to my house tomorrow night, for dinner."

"Why?"

"I've told you... Just trying to be hospitable. You just moved here, they're here for a visit, probably feeling a little anxious about leaving their son here on his own....

Leaving their son here with you was what Zeke heard. Ah, but the Connors would never know the complicated truth about their son because no one was going to volunteer to explain it to them, least of all Casey. They didn't need to know that Casey was far beyond anyone's ability to comprehend. They wouldn't know and couldn't accept that their son had been some guy's fucktoy, and would willingly be that again if he could because it was so perversely safe and familiar to him.

"– Zeke?"

"Yes, I'm here. Is Stan invited?"

"He is my nephew."

"I suppose you're trying to get everyone to play nice, then."

"That's all right, you go ahead and be difficult if it makes you happy. Yes, I am trying to mend the breach, as it were. Apart from wanting to do something nice for you all, I have a vested interest in seeing you and Stan be friends."

"Why's that?"

"Stan's been absolutely useless the last week or so. He's very upset about your disagreement or whatever it was."

"Sorry to hear that, but Stan is the one in the wrong."

"Maybe so... but he really is very miserable, Zeke. Is it possible that he needs a chance to apologize?"

"He can call me up any time."

"You know, Zeke..." Charly sounded like she was collecting her patience. "Not everyone is as strong as you. Some folks need a little help, a gesture, an opening... something."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine, what?"

"Fine, we'll come to dinner. I mean, I'll ask Casey's parents but I don't see why not."

"Excellent! Thank you, Zeke. Let me give you my address, it's 414 Chestnut. I can give you directions – "

"I'll figure it out."

"Of course you will. My mistake. See you tomorrow at about 5:00, then."

He put the phone down and just stood, staring out the front window.

Strong. He used to be strong. Before he handed over a huge chunk of himself to one of the damaged. He should have known better; his mother was one of them and he really thought he had learned his lesson there. Apparently not.

He called Wellth, assuming that Stokely was at work, and discovered that she was already finished for the day. That was odd; Stokely usually worked from ten to five- thirty and had gotten into the habit of dropping in every day either before or after. It was peculiar not to have heard from her at all, now that Zeke turned his mind to it. He called Stokely at home and initiated the conversation with, "You're not at work."

Stokely had to take a second to catch up. "Zeke? Oh, yeah, I worked an early shift. Wanted to get home earlier today so I could... well, I'm cooking something a bit special, I needed to grocery shop."

"Making up with Stan, are you?"

"Well. Trying to, anyway."

"Charly just called to invite us for supper tomorrow."

"Yeah, I know."

"She's trying to play mediator, I think. You are going to be there, right?"

"Of course... and Stan, too."

"I hope that no one gave Charly the impression that I'm going to accept Stan's crap, because I'm not."

"Why are you so hormonal today?"

"I'm not."

"Oh, yes, you are. You've been spitting words at me since I said hello."

"I just want to make sure that this isn't some great reconciliation you're trying to rope me into."

"I'm not trying to rope you into anything. As far as I know it's just a chance for Charly to meet Casey's parents and if Stan happens to apologize when he sees you, that's all good, too."

"Has he changed his views, then?"

"He's trying."

"Not good enough. I explained it to him already, he knows."

"For fuck sake, Zeke – is this what you called for? Because I'm a little busy right now. You can go to Charly's or not go to Charly's, it's up to you."

Zeke had to relent a bit; he was certainly in no position to judge Stokely for trying with Stan. It was amazing what you would consider putting up with when you were used to having a certain person around. He said, "All I wanted was to make sure that you would be there. I can't face it if it's just Stan and Charly and the rest of us."

"I'll be there, Zeke. Even if Stan and I are quits – which might happen, by the way -- I'll be there."

"Thank you," he said begrudgingly.

"Now what's up your ass?"

"Nothing," he bit off. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Shortly after hanging up, he heard the roar of the Mustang turning into the alley behind the building. Interim measures, he recited to himself. He had a sudden, paranoic worry, thinking about the pile of letters that had remained after Zeke pilfered it, the pile that had been moved from the dining table to the top of the microwave this morning to make way for breakfast. Zeke fetched them and took them to the bedroom, just in case Allison happened to glance at them and notice that one was missing. He put them on top of the dresser, where they would probably go unnoticed for some time, and headed back to the kitchen. He wanted to look busy with something.

Unexpectedly, Sasha burst through the door, crying, "Zeke, I'm running late, would you give me a ride to work, no time for the bus!" Sasha threw the keys on the kitchen counter and was off down the hall. "I'll be ready in five!"

Zeke retrieved his jacket without a word – not that it was so very cold out, but he had no intention of leaving it here unsupervised. He was in the hall, in front of the open door, when Casey and his parents came in; Casey's father's voice arrived before his mouth. Typically, Zeke didn't hear a sound from Casey. No doubt he would be sad and strained, looking for some reassurance from Zeke, and Zeke just couldn't give it now. He would use the drive with Sasha to pull himself together. If he was going to survive this weekend he would have to shore up his defences, call upon the acting skills he had perfected earlier in his life.

It turned out that he couldn't even look at Casey, who positioned himself right in the doorway as though he intended to keep Zeke from leaving. Every time Zeke dared to view Casey, to so much as glance in his direction, the terrible, weakening emotions would sap Zeke's soul, and he would engage in desperate, shameful acts to defend himself. With harsh words he let Casey know that he had been sitting on the roof all day not caring if he missed class even after he used it as an excuse to not go with them to the mall. No wonder that Casey sounded scared when he tried to ask about it, and of course Zeke couldn't stop himself from looking, getting the full brunt of that presence that made him feel so much that he didn't want to feel, and so again he lashed out, denying its power over him. He hated being so weak, hated all of it for making him ill and stupid. He found himself staring at Casey, thinking about all the things that Casey held inside, all his secrets. Zeke had never pressed him either, never asked him for an accounting, never asked him if he was thinking about Roy. He looked so innocent, so scared – but he had looked that way before, too. Until Zeke had found those marks that Roy made on his body, he would have argued to the death with anyone who had suggested that Casey could actually be carrying on with a man who had used him and left him. It seemed equally inconceivable right now, and therefore chillingly possible.

Once they were in the car and Sasha had some free minutes, he lit right into Zeke. "What is the matter with you today?"

The rage boiled up, all of it, all that Zeke had been unable to loose upon Casey – and he had restrained himself, whatever Casey might think. "‘Gee, Zeke," he parodied in a bitter voice. "‘I'm so grateful to you for giving of your time and financial resources so I won't be late for work.'"

Sasha made a disgusted face and retorted, "I'll pay you if it means that much to you. How much are we talking about here? Two bucks for the gas – and what? A dollar for the labour?"

"You know something?" Zeke returned, taking a hand off the steering wheel and running it through his hair. There was a large sedan in front of him that was proceeding along a congested city street at a snail-like pace and Zeke laid on the horn in lieu of completing his verbal complaint. He sustained the noise until he could be sure that it was having no effect whatsoever. Pounding on the wheel, he yelled, "Move your old man ass!"

"Oh, that'll work," Sasha observed.

"Keep your comments to yourself."

"What the fuck is going on?" Sasha burst out. "And whatever it is, why don't you take it out on me now and leave Casey alone?"

"I'm not angry at him," Zeke said around gritted teeth.

"Could have fooled me."

"I just got fed up for a second and he overreacted as usual."

Sasha began to glower sideways. "Yeah, he overreacts. We knew this. You knew it this morning when you were all happy and smiley – and then just like that you're fed up?"

Okay. Zeke was being irrational and he knew it. There were times when one could only be one hundred percent self-indulgent and garbled, but he didn't like to think that those times ever happened to him. Of course, he had already blown it with his wildly inconsistent behaviour today; no way would anyone believe that there was nothing bothering him. "It's major, isn't it?" Sasha guessed suddenly.

"Yeah," Zeke replied wearily, anger failing him. Suddenly, he could resign himself to travelling all the way to Sojourn at twenty miles an hour. He didn't want to go back to the apartment until he could be sure that he would not be finishing the day as a crazy-man. "It's fucking major – and you only have a few minutes to spare right now."

"Just tell me," Sasha urged.

"I wouldn't want you to injure yourself," Zeke said, meaning it. "You're going to be handling knives and hot liquids all night."

"You're scaring me, Zeke. I want to know and I want to know now."

"Okay, so... " Zeke kept his eyes trained on the red brake lights directly in front of his bumper. "Casey's mom brought him some mail that came to their house for him. And guess who wrote Casey a letter."

It took Sasha two seconds to come up with an answer, but a lot longer to get out some words. "That – unbelievable – I knew he would crawl out of his hole eventually, I knew it!"

They were at a dead stop now, waiting to make a turn. Zeke glanced sideways at Sasha and said, "Well, I guess that makes me the twit, because I really thought we wouldn't be hearing from him again."

"Zeke. You don't actually think that Casey..."

"I don't know," Zeke muttered.

Sasha got quiet. He remained quiet while Zeke negotiated a left turn onto Clarke Street, where Sojourn was located. He didn't make a sound until they were in the parking lot, at which time he delivered his opinion. "You've got a lot to learn about trust," he said.

Braking to a stop behind the restaurant, Zeke shot back, "And you don't remember me telling you how Casey would taunt me about going back to Roy every once in a while?"

"Yeah, sure, but trust is this thing that you do even when there may be a reason not to. That's why it's called trust."

"People have to earn my trust."

"You don't think that Casey has done that? You actually think he might have phoned Roy, or written him, or... what? Sent out a psychic vibe to him? I'll tell you something... You don't know Roy like I do. He'll keep coming back like an infection unless we figure out some way to stamp him out. When it comes right down to it he's incapable of thinking about anyone but himself. He's an ego-maniac, he's – just – he's – " Sasha had begun to sputter.

A young woman in a chef uniform like Sasha's popped out the back door of the restaurant, a cigarette dangling from her lips, lighter in hand. It triggered an immediate craving in Zeke, but his smokes had been left on the white metal table on their roof. "I guess you have to go," Zeke said regretfully, truly wanting to be advised, although simply bearing witness to Sasha's outrage had somehow made him feel better.

"I can spare a minute," Sasha said. He waved to the woman smoking in the parking lot and she waved back. "I take it Casey hasn't read the letter."

"Casey doesn't know about the letter."

"Well, you have to give it to him."

Zeke nodded, but didn't say anything.

"Zeke. Tell me you weren't thinking about some other course of action."

He clenched his jaw.

"You weren't intending to give it to him?"

"Not entirely," he admitted. Sasha's eyes bulged out of his head and Zeke protested, "Oh, come on! Tell me you aren't thinking about it too."

"Wishing, maybe. If I had my way I would burn it, and then I would hire someone to put that prick out of Casey's misery. But I'm not going to do that. It's Casey's letter. We can't make a decision like that for him."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Sasha echoed incredulously.

"Don't try to say I'd be like Roy. This is a little different."

"How, exactly?"

"Okay, maybe in the abstract it would be the wrong thing to do, but I'm right here in the middle of this and I want to protect Casey -- from Roy or from himself if necessary. I don't know if I can let just that guy hurt Casey again."

"I don't think it's Casey you're thinking about protecting right now."

"That's a brilliant deduction, there. I never would have figured that out. Yeah, I'm trying to protect myself, but it's a bit late for that." He hadn't intended to say that last bit. His jaw absolutely ached. He wanted a cigarette. Hands sweating on the steering wheel, he said, "I can't stop Casey from thinking about Roy, or dreaming about Roy. But I don't want to have to discuss Roy with him – or hear him say Roy's name even if it is innocent."

"Obviously – "

"That fucker doesn't have any claim on Casey!" Zeke erupted. His eyes were stinging. "He shouldn't get a second of Casey's time – I don't want Casey's eyes touching the paper that he wrote on!"

His words reverberated around the interior of the Mustang and fell into a rather shocky silence. Zeke dared to glance at Sasha, saw his expression, and let his head fall on his steering wheel with a painful thud.

"I'm fucking losing it," Zeke moaned.

Sasha patted his shoulder. "Poor baby."

"I've never... I was sure this would never happen to me. It doesn't feel good."

"It will," Sasha replied soothingly, giving him a squeeze.

"How do you know?"

"I am the wise and powerful oracle. So when are you going to hand over the letter to him? Probably sooner is better, Allison might notice that it's missing."

Zeke lifted his head. He saw that the smoking woman was watching them with mild interest. "I put all the letters in our room, so she won't know that the pile is a little thin."

"Well, aren't you the clever boyfriend."

"I really wanted to avoid any big crisis while Casey's parents are here."

"I approve of that in theory, but are you really going to be able to act normal around Casey until Sunday night?"

"I'll just have to do my best," Zeke said, staring out the windshield.

"No, you're going to do better than that," Sasha decreed as he unfolded his long body from the car.

 

"Casey?" his dad was saying. Casey had been standing with his face to the door for a while now, trying not to hear him and not having much success it seemed. "Casey, look at me."

Submitting to the inevitable, Casey turned around. So his father would have the proof before him that he had weakling and a crybaby for a son. Like he hadn't known that already, like everyone didn't know. Even his mother was giving him a look, a pitying, disappointed how could you let him do that why don't you have more self-respect haul off and give him what-for why don't you look. And they had to be thinking that if he was going to put up with this treatment, he could at least remain stoic about it. People just didn't wear everything on their face the way he did. People weren't that way.

"Ah...'m..." His dad was trying to not notice the state he was in, to preserve an iota of dignity for him. "Didn't Sasha say you're supposed to go for a walk every day?"

"Frank," his mom protested. "Do you have to now – ?"

"Why not?" his dad cut her off. "Sun's still out – there's no time like the present."

"I guess, but – " Visibly assessing his condition, his mom asked, "You okay, hon?"

Casey rubbed his nose and sniffled a bit, peering at his dad through a haze of salt water. A walk seemed slightly insurmountable right now. "I... walked at the mall."

This inspired a grin, visible amusement at Casey's resourcefulness in avoiding exercise. With a gesture at the door, his dad said, "I don't think that counts, pal. Come on, we'll take a tour of the neighbourhood."

I can't. It was really the phrase of the hour – but Casey couldn't say it this time either. Not at this moment with the tears from his most recent dissolution on his face, not when his parents had no real knowledge of certain issues. His father had always believed that Casey would be happy and healthy if he would just get out of the house and join a sports team. So short of explaining to his parents that he had this problem where he worried constantly that everyone wanted to penetrate him with long, slimy, slug-like creatures that would take over his brain, he had no choice.

"Okay," he allowed.

"I could use a walk myself." His father reached around and opened the door, the action very much a command to get moving. Casey obeyed, his feet heavy.

The day had started out quite dreary but was ending with unexpected bolt of sunshine pushing aside some of the damp without really getting a chance to warm anything. Casey tugged the zipper on his fleece up until it was brushing the underside of his chin and stuck his hands in his pockets. Emerging from narrow alley alongside their building, Casey and his father turned right and started down the sidewalk, past the vegan clothing shop, the holistic bookstore, the massage centre – places that Casey had already noted in passing but not explored. He couldn't allow himself to get curious, so he tried not to look too deeply into the interiors, or give the shop windows more than a glance. The grocery store that Sasha loved was two blocks away. Sasha had taken him there just once, dragging him enthusiastically from shelf to refrigerator to deli counter, delivering non-stop Emeril-on-speed commentary. Casey had made it through most of the trip, all the way to the check- out, and then puked on the sidewalk right outside the door. Come to think of it, that was the last time he had been at large in the neighbourhood, until now.

His dad didn't say much, shaking his head at the high percentage of flakiness surrounding him, occasionally muttering to himself. After three blocks they had already gone farther than Casey had to date, at least on foot. They discovered a small park at one corner of the intersection, really just a green patch, one block wide and one street deep with a small fountain at the centre. His dad turned into it, and Casey followed. The park held only a few people, mostly walking their dogs. There were some cement benches circling the fountain. "Let's sit for a minute," suggested his dad.

Casey sensed a paternal talk coming. He sat gingerly on the bench, fairly certain of the major themes of the discussion at least.

"Cold?" his dad asked him.

He had broken into a light sweat as they were walking and now he shivered a little in the wet air. "‘m okay."

Satisfied that Casey was not dying, his dad turned his eyes to the fountain, which was just a bare trickle into a low pool of water, dotted with fallen leaves. "I've been trying to get in a bit more activity myself," he mused. "I realized I've been sitting on my ass far too much lately. Thought I might even look for some kind of kids' league to coach..." He trailed off, finished with, "You don't need to hear about this."

"No, tell me," Casey said, hoping that it would encourage him to get more quickly to his point. Not that he didn't want to be able to converse with his father. He just needed to get home sooner rather than later because Zeke would be back very shortly.

"Nah." With this, his dad looked directly down at Casey, wearing a serious, pensive expression. This was nearly unheard of; Casey began to tremble a little harder, and not from the chill. "It's not what I... what I want to say."

Well, this day just kept on coming. It wasn't waiting for Casey to catch up or to even give some indication that he was ready for the next circumstance to unfold. The tension in his muscles wound itself tighter, from general discomfort to fully clenched, as though that could somehow prepare him.

"How... how are you doing, pal?"

It was difficult to remember who this man was sometimes. Casey squinted at him, needing a visual reminder – but this was indeed his father, the same man who had not asked him that question, apparently not wondering how he was for something like sixty-two months, a thick block of Casey's life that had begun around those first days of high school and finally ended when he came home from the hospital this summer.

"I mean, I want to know. I don't want to hear just fine or not fine." His dad cleared his throat. Gaze distant, he said uncomfortably, "I want to understand."

Casey didn't know how to answer. Which part would that be, what did his father want to understand? His being sick? Gay? Just plain abnormal? He had thought that he and his father had an unspoken accord that they would care for each other but avoid trying to understand each other. That way lay madness – but here was his father trying to wade into it.

His dad had started to ramble. "I, uh... went to Dr. Lees, made an appointment I mean, because I thought maybe he could... he could explain, so I told him a little about what was going on, and... He told me some things about depression and then he said some other things that really pissed me off but that wasn't what I wanted to understand I guess. I realize it's a disease, but I just wondered... how..."

Okay, this part was comprehensible. Frank Connor wanted to know how his son had become such a disaster, but Casey was not in possession of that information. Certain key events could be pointed to, but they wouldn't explain it. "I don't know what to say," Casey muttered.

"Well, I'm not making much sense here. I'm not used to this kind of thing, you know."

Casey couldn't not smile a little.

Glancing down at him, his dad saw the grin and emitted a half-snort, half- chuckle. "Yeah, I guess you know from a long way back that your dad is a complete loser when it comes to emotions and stuff." A shrug. "I have been trying, Casey. With your mother, too... Let's just say I've been trying."

The need-to-get-home-need-Zeke moved through Casey again; he pushed it aside for the moment. He needed this, too. He needed his father, that was one thing he had figured out. "What do you want to know, Dad?"

"Well, I..."

"You can ask."

"Honestly? I'm afraid that I'll upset you. Every time I open my mouth."

"I'm always upset, Dad. Don't let that stop you." His father gave him a startled, worried look, but Casey was absolutely sincere. If people waited for him not to be upset, they would be waiting a long time. Zeke understood that about Casey. He would snap or tell Casey off whenever he felt like it; he would talk to Casey like he was a complete, wholly intact human being. Of course, he was also insanely overprotective and Casey liked him that way... most of the time.

Let him not be mad at me, let him not hate me... Was he at home now? It had been twenty minutes at least, Zeke could be at home right now, ready to confront Casey and getting more pissed off because Casey wasn't there.

His dad took his advice and said, "Okay, well... I want to know what happened."

"Ha - happened?" Casey echoed, unable to sort through the potential interpretations of the question.

"What happened that night you went missing, Casey? What happened when you were at school and you were seeing that Roy? Is that how you... " His dad made a noise of exasperation, having trouble putting the distasteful images into words. "Or was it... Did it happen before, was it something that... that we...? There's too many things about you I don't know... and you're my kid."

His father's voice had that tight sound again. That would be the second time within a month that he had seen his father on the verge of tears. It didn't help to make this whole moment feel any more like reality.

With a shaky laugh, his father added, "Your mother wants to know too, Casey. We agreed that I would ask, because she... She was afraid she would just start crying and that wouldn't get us anywhere." His father was looking right at him, putting him in his scopes and trying to know him. "We want to know what happened to you, how did you get so... beat up?"

Casey stared at the ground, finding that easier than the alternatives. The light around him was funny right now, grey with a tinge of yellow, and maybe it was because of his eyes or maybe it was just how evening looked out here. He hadn't been outside for any length of time lately and maybe this was how outside was...

He'd had a very long day. He was tired. He needed to go home. He needed Zeke. He needed some time in the shower, and a nap. And a movie. And Zeke. He needed to be cuddled on the couch with Zeke and they were watching... watching something... something Zeke would like, what would he like... something with lots of action. Die Hard. Speed. No – Titanic. Four whole hours where no one had to talk.

"I have upset you," said his dad.

"It's... okay," Casey murmured.

"What did you say?"

He hadn't been audible. "It's... okay," he said again, louder this time. "But I can't... answer that."

"Okay," his dad said, and looked older than Casey remembered. "I won't ask again."

"No... you can ask... just can't answer... now."

"Do you want to go home, pal?"

Casey took a breath. "Yeah."

"Can I just ask one more thing?"

The light was getting darker, the grey overtaking the yellow. Casey nodded quickly.

"You seem to be settling in here, Casey. You've got a doctor and you're getting on track and your mother and I... we don't want to pull the rug out from under you but we have to ask if this is where you want to be, just to be sure, you understand?"

He would answer this one. The sooner he did, the sooner he could get away from here, get home and get warm and talk to Zeke and see how Zeke looked and talked and if he was still mad.

"I need an answer, pal. I want to hear it from you again... Do you want to stay here?"

"Yes," Casey said.

His father sighed and nodded once, seeming to accept it. "We worry about you, you know."

"I know."

"I worry. Especially..." Casey watched as his father's throat worked, like he was swallowing something that tasted bitter. "Especially when I see Zeke acting up."

Ogodogod... If his parents could see it, it must be really happening, not in his head, and not minor either. Zeke was not happy with him and he needed to get home right now. He had been gone too long, what if Zeke was back already and Casey had already missed a chance to make amends –

"I don't like it," his dad continued, "And he was doing it in front of me and your mother, and Sasha. This morning, and just now... I'm not a complete dummy. I can see what's going on and I don't like it."

"No, Dad, I... he..." Casey counted three breaths... One... two... three... Now make a sentence. "He isn't like that... usually. Something's wrong."

"I still don't like it, Casey."

He knew his dad meant well, that he was concerned, but there was still more than a hint of distaste there, a touch of why is my son this pansy who bursts into tears because his boyfriend raises his voice and why did he let himself get beaten up on every day of his life so far.

Casey got to his feet. "Can we go?"

"Yeah... sure."

His father seemed disappointed. Like he actually expected Casey to suddenly grow a backbone because he showed him some attention for a few minutes. They walked home without speaking to each other.

"I'm cooking dinner," his mom announced when they came in the door. She was in the kitchen, peeling some garlic. Sasha's extra-large pasta pot was on the stove, and a package of linguine was awaiting baptism.

"Is Zeke back?" Casey asked, ignoring the displeased sound that his dad made at this question.

"No, hon."

It was only a few steps to the dining room table. Casey melted into one of the chairs, the one where it was possible to sit and watch the door, if one wanted. His father sat across from him, still eying him like he was a frustrating puzzle to be solved.

"So have you met this Aunt Charly?" asked his mom while she chopped something.

"Yes," he answered, not taking his eyes off the door. It was a white, metal door. There was a black smudge of dirt towards the bottom that Sasha must not have noticed in his cleaning frenzy last week.

"... Casey?"

"Hmm?"

"Your mother asked you if she was nice," his dad said, a little bit sharp.

"Oh, um.... I don't know... " he stammered.

"What does she do?" asked his mom.

"She... " He thought he heard a car engine that might have been the Mustang. "Works at the newspaper... with Stan."

His mother sighed, "It does make me feel a bit better to think that there's an older adult keeping an eye on you kids."

"Mmm." Casey was making a point of not thinking about Charly and whatever it was that she wanted from him, and he was pretty sure that she did want something from him. He gnawed on a finger, caught at a bit of loose skin and tore it with his teeth, peeling it back. It didn't really hurt, and there was something deeply satisfying about it, like popping a blister or picking at a scab.

"Casey," said his father in a pained tone. "Do you have to do that?"

He dropped his hand. "Sorry."

"No, I'm talking about you sitting here like this waiting for Zeke. It's bugging the hell out of me."

Casey started working on another finger.

"Frank, I'm sure Zeke was just having a mood."

"Oh, no? How do we know that?"

"Well, he's not the only one who gets cranky, is he?"

"But he is the one living with our son. I'd like to know just what his problem is... Especially when I see Casey pining at the door for him."

This had to stop. His father didn't know Zeke, and he didn't know anything about Casey's life. "Please, don't," Casey said. He would have loved to sound serene and in control, but it wasn't coming off that way. His voice was agitated, like he was.

"Don't what? Don't tell him to clean up his act?"

"Dad... "

"If he's bold enough to act like that with us standing there, what would he do when we're not around?"

Some disconnected entity in the room was on his feet and shouting things that Casey heard with disbelieving shock: "Why are you doing this now? I'm not going back with you! I have to stay here – I want to stay here!"

But that had been him.

His parents now gaped at him with two sets of stricken, round eyes, not even blinking. "Your father only wants to make sure that you're – not being hurt – " his mother faltered.

There were a lot of really mean things he could have said right then. But he didn't, because he had never been able to be truthful with these two people and he didn't expect that would change. He wouldn't say what he was thinking, that it was a bit late for them to suddenly wonder if he was being hurt, or to concern themselves about whether or not everyone was being kind and good to him.

"Where are you going, Casey?" his mom called to him as he started down the hall.

Casey let the bathroom door and the sound of the lock turning answer for him.

He was done for today, he'd had it with people who weren't Zeke or Sasha. He wanted a shower and then bed, he wanted to be warm – but there were no towels in here. Of course, he had used them both this morning; they were lying in a damp heap on his bedroom floor. He gave up on the shower and just sat down on the floor, cross-legged.

Nice things had happened this morning and it seemed such a long time ago now. He wished that the nice would not even bother to happen; it only made it tougher when the day reverted to form. Still, there had to be a really good reason why Zeke would have turned on him like that. Perhaps he had been too obvious in front of his mother when he invited Zeke to join him in the shower, and Zeke had been embarrassed. Or maybe Zeke just didn't want Casey coming on to him at all. Even though the guidelines had been getting a pretty wide interpretation lately, Zeke had not given him any official notice that they had been repealed. Or was it just about the pills – ? It had to be that. Zeke was just tired of his resisting when they were only trying to help him.

Pounding outside, on the bathroom door.

"Casey?"

That was Zeke's voice on the other side. Casey must have zoned because he hadn't heard Zeke outside in the apartment, he hadn't heard the door open or Zeke's voice in the hall as he undoubtedly would have if he were paying attention.

"Casey, unlock the frigging door!"

He scrambled to his feet and unlocked it. Zeke stood there, with his parents behind him. Their faces were three intense shades of red.

"You locked it," Zeke said, breathing hard. "You're not supposed to do that."

"I was thinking."

"The deal was you don't lock the door."

His head started shrieking. That wasn't the deal, there was no deal, there was no deal... You always tell me that but we didn't agree to it, there was no agreement and I didn't do anything, I didn't do anything but tell me what I did please so I can not do it again....

"I'm going to lie down for a while," he said, hyperventilating.

"Okay, sweetie," his mom said, too quickly and too anxiously. "But just a short one, all right? Supper will just be about half an hour.... Sasha wrote down that recipe for me, pasta cabar –"

"Carbonara," Zeke supplied, staring down at Casey.

" – Sasha said it's your favourite."

"Yes," Casey said, hollowly, starting out of the bathroom, and they parted before him easily. "It's my favourite."

Zeke didn't follow him into the bedroom, didn't even touch him. Casey curled up in the centre of the bed and closed his ears to the murmur of voices at large in the apartment.

He was up on the roof this time, afraid to go downstairs because there was something there and it occurred to him that he wasn't sure if he was asleep and dreaming nasty stuff or awake and freaking out. Someone had painted a mural of scary images on the wall of the building across from him, things that made no sense but he knew that Zeke was in on it Zeke was one of them... but the mural was actually a movie that had both of them in it as major characters and Casey was watching himself in it. Zeke kept trying to contain Casey with all these arms and Casey kept fighting not because he really wanted to or had the will to anymore but because it was what he was supposed to do but he was terrified too, he was terrified of what would happen when he surrendered, and terrified of what would happen if he didn't.

His eyes popped open and the room was almost dark and he was drowning in panic. He whimpered Zeke's name but he was not there, of course, because there was something wrong, something Casey had done or let happen or just didn't dare try to stop –

There were the precious pills, though, right beside the bed; Casey sat up, flailing at the bedside lamp until he got it on and light flooded the little bottle and by some miracle there was a glass sitting there with an inch or two of water left from yesterday or maybe it was the day before, he couldn't remember but tried to shake out just one of the pills and half the bottle came with it, his hands too unsteady to get them back in so he took one in his mouth and let the rest dribble onto the night stand. Two gulps of stale, warm water washed that little white pill down and he sat on the bed for a while clutching at his knees, waiting for it to stop.

It seemed like it took forever, and he was just thinking he should take another one because the first one must have been a dud when it occurred to him that he was able to take a comfortable breath despite all of the counterproductive messages his brain was sending. He counted ten breaths before he was satisfied that it was no fluke and he was safe to lay down. The delicious, slow feeling of comfort that had already become familiar and well-loved like his favourite blanket was stealing over him. It was a wave, smoothing the tremors out, gently patting them out of his arms and legs, making him feel like a being of soft, elastic flesh again and not bunches and cords of wires that pulled and jerked him around like a wooden puppet.

He hugged Zeke's pillow to his chest, burying his face in it. One thing about Zeke... He was picky about the products he bought, always choosing the brands that cost the most, as though that were the only way to ensure top quality. So his hair and his pillow smelled like some outrageously expensive shampoo that was reminiscent of spice and musk. It was a rare bit of vanity in Zeke and one of these days Casey was going to have to expose him to Sasha, when it could be a joke that they could all laugh about together. He loved it when the three of them were in sync. It felt good... like family... but that was not what he was getting from Zeke today. Today he was getting something else, Zeke upset, but he wasn't going to think about that now, now he was going to surrender to that lazy warmth, that lassitude that was in his head, cooing to him... Casey, come to me now... come to Xanax...

 

Zeke had been on the verge of blurting it out to Casey when the bathroom door opened: I need to talk to you. He didn't know how he could wait even one more day with that envelope howling in his pocket – but after he made that comment to Casey about deals and locked doors, he could more or less see the meltdown waiting to happen, and reconciled himself to waiting for a better moment. Ideally, that would be the next minute after they put the Connors on their plane back to Ohio.

Allison announced that dinner was ready; Zeke volunteered to check and see if Casey was getting up. Peering into the bedroom, he saw that Casey was completely out, unconscious. He thought about waking him and decided against it, even though it had been several hours now since he had really touched or interacted with Casey and all his senses were in withdrawal. Of course, that was his own damn fault.

Having laboured over linguine carbonara, Allison wasn't happy when Zeke reported that Casey could use sleep more than supper. It was bizarre to sit down at a table with Casey's parents, the three of them in a tableau that certainly had no precedent in Zeke's life story. The recipe hadn't turned out right because apparently Allison couldn't bring herself to believe that you could just toss raw egg yolks with pasta, thus turning the sauce into scrambled eggs and bacon. Zeke didn't dare complain, though, not after his behaviour today, and not after Casey's father wondered out loud, "This is Casey's favourite?" and got kicked under the table for it.

Afterwards, Zeke tried to demonstrate what a good boyfriend he was by washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen while the Connors watched the news. Then he joined them in the living room, taking the armchair adjacent to the couch, the one that had become "Sasha's chair" at some undistinguishable moment during the past week.

Frank Connor surveyed Zeke, and pointedly flicked the remote at the television, turning it off. "I take it you want to say something," Zeke stated, not wanting to prolong this interview.

"Yes," said Frank. "We do."

"I can guess."

"Oh?"

"Something about me being nicer to Casey."

"For a start."

"I can be jerk sometimes, okay? I'm not unlike other people that way. When I'm a jerk, I apologize, and I will as soon as I get the chance."

"And what about tomorrow? And the day after that?"

Zeke took his time answering, waiting until the intuitive fuck you in him had subsided and he could be a tad more diplomatic. "You'll just have to believe me, that I would never actually hurt Casey."

Frank appeared to be on the verge of detonation. He opened his mouth, preparing to bluster, his face going ruddy – and then closed it. Maybe he, like Zeke, wanted to keep things as harmonious as possible for Casey's sake. Or maybe, just maybe, he knew that if they started itemizing where others had done wrong to his son, he would be opening a ledger that would definitely not leave him in the black when they were done.

Allison seemed about to add something, when her head jerked up suddenly and she released a little scream, jumping a foot off the couch. "Casey! You scared me!"

Zeke twisted to look over his shoulder, going hot and cold in the gut. There was Casey, standing in that space just between the dining area and the living room, and even though Zeke was fairly certain he had said nothing to incriminate himself, he still felt like he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. Perhaps it was residual guilt from all of those conversations he and Sasha had carried on about Casey while he was asleep. Getting to his feet, Zeke said, "Um... hi, Case."

"Mmm," Casey said. Zeke could tell right away that he had taken a Xanax. His expression was completely flat – unless one could count the pillow crease on one cheek. He seemed to be struggling to orient himself, too, mumbling his words. "Re - membered... dinner."

"Oh," said Allison, biting her lip. "It's... we just finished up, hon, but there is a bit left in the fridge, I could probably just warm it up for you."

Casey looked disinterested but he manufactured a tiny smile for his mother. "Sure... that's great."

Then he looked at Zeke and his father, taking in the seating configuration, his father on the couch while Zeke had been in the armchair. Zeke had a ridiculous urge to plop himself on the couch, shoving Frank off the end so he could then hold out the space next to him as Casey's seat. The couch supposedly fit three, but not entirely comfortably and much less comfortably when the three were you, your lover and his father.

Fuck it. Zeke decided that Frank Connor did not exist. Zeke reached out a hand to Casey – intending to cup his cheek but somehow missing entirely and setting down on the curve of his neck, drawing Casey to him that way. It could not have looked very affectionate. Then Casey was right in front of him and Zeke made up for his possessive grab by skimming his lips along Casey's cheek to his mouth. On the way, Casey's eyes caught his, and that made everything stand at attention. Zeke drew Casey along with him, down into the armchair so Casey ended up sideways in his lap, his head against Zeke's shoulder, eyes closed, while Zeke held him near with an arm. Casey breathed a deep, contented sigh, and Zeke glanced lazily over at Frank.

He was a nice, deep, beaujolais colour.

Allison was back with her plate of food. "Here you go, hon," she said, her eyes widening at the sight of Zeke and Casey cuddling in the chair. Uncertain, she put the plate on the coffee table and returned to her place on the couch.

It was the last thing Zeke wanted to do, but he gave Casey a bit of a jostle and said, "Food."

Casey sat up a bit unwillingly, looking for the plate. He did not react noticeably to the odd appearance of his favourite dish. As he started to move over to the couch, Zeke caught him, pulling him back into the chair. The result was Casey sitting perched on the spot between Zeke's legs, his backside in tantalizing proximity to Zeke's crotch. Zeke had to concentrate on making his face impassive as he watched Casey's arm moving up and down at an irregular pace. He could almost but not quite catch Casey's profile, his jaw working as he chewed and swallowed.

"Is it good, hon?" Allison asked rather anxiously.

"Yeah, it's great," Casey replied. He shifted subtly on the pretext of making himself more comfortable and ground back against Zeke's erection. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're doped up," Frank said, accusing. "Did you take one of those... What were they called?"

"Xanax," Casey said, raising his hand and lowering it as though he moved within some temporal anomaly that made the most routine activity fascinating. Zeke had aeons to sit there and observe the languid connection of hand to mouth, skin to lips. There was a slight, unholy shine of bacon grease on Casey's lips and fingers.

Frank didn't like this whole business about drugs and medications at all; Zeke had seen it in him a month ago when Casey was in the hospital, and he could see it now – even as the greater part of Zeke's attention was on Casey's mouth. "And last night... " Connor deduced. "When you picked us up? Is this a regular occurrence, then?"

Casey put his fork down. "Well, I... I just got them...."

"They're a temporary fix," Zeke interposed, curbing his annoyance as best he could.

Connor grimaced. "Are you supposed to take them every day?"

Zeke straightened and ran his hand down Casey's arm, casting a warning stare in Frank's direction while Casey replied, "No, just when... when I need it."

"Hmmph," said Connor, averting his eyes from his son. It occurred to Zeke then that his own bad behaviour earlier hadn't been the only reason that Casey had sought chemical assistance. Not that it in any way excused him.

"So I take it this drug makes you a bit mellow?" Allison suggested.

Casey nodded. "Sleepy."

"Well, nothing wrong with that, right?" Allison addressed this to her husband, then quickly dismissed him when it did nothing to improve his sullen face. "You probably want to go back to bed, then?"

"Sorry, Mom."

"It's okay, hon. Maybe tomorrow you'll feel up to some sightseeing?"

"Um... Okay."

Only half of the pasta was gone but Zeke didn't make an issue of it when Casey got up; his greater preoccupation was the major league hard-on that was now being painfully subdued by the zipper on his jeans. Surreptitiously trying to adjust himself, Zeke was half-turned to watch Casey shuffle in the direction of bed – then Casey stopped a few feet away, turned to Zeke and said, "Come with me?"

For the benefit of Casey's parents, Zeke grinned as wolfishly as he knew how and replied, leaping out of chair with enthusiasm, "Sure, I'll tuck you in."

In their bedroom, Casey simply shucked his jeans, converting the t-shirt from day wear to pajamas instantly. He crawled back into bed with a groan of satisfaction. Zeke stretched out next to him, lying on top of the covers. He noted a scattering of tiny white pills on the nightstand. "What happened there?" he asked, bouncing up and going around to the other side. There were a few pills on the floor too.

"Dropped them," Casey mumbled.

Zeke squatted down and picked them all up, tipping them carefully back into the bottle. Casey was lying on his side, watching him do it. "Another tough day," Zeke remarked.

Casey nodded, scrunching up to make room on that side of the bed. "Zeke...?"

He didn't have to finish the request. Zeke flopped down next to him willingly. They had to work at it, but after some tugging of blankets and squirming and adjusting of pillows, Casey was a neatly wrapped package against Zeke's side, his hand on Zeke's chest.

"Does it ever get less tough?" Zeke asked, caressing Casey's arm lightly.

"Right now it is," Casey murmured. He lifted his head like it was an incredibly heavy burden for him and peered up at Zeke. "What did I do wrong?"

Guilt rammed Zeke, rammed him hard. "Nothing, Case – you didn't do anything wrong. Fuck, I'm sorry. I think I was channelling Delilah."

"You were mad at me."

"I'm a shit sometimes, Case, you know that. You need to punch me or yell at me when I'm like that – or just ignore me."

The eyes closed, and Casey muttered, "You don't want me to ignore you."

He was nearly asleep, but he was still right. When Zeke acted up, he was like an infant caught up in the throes of his omnipotence, demanding Casey's absolute attention. Zeke had manufactured a nice little tantrum today, hadn't he, apparently over nothing but the real message was evident: Mine... mine, mine, mine! He kept feeding Casey the party line about independence and assertiveness while Casey saw right through what he said to what he actually meant.

"Not going to ignore you," Casey confirmed, snuggling closer. "But... am going to sleep."

"Oh yeah?" Zeke challenged softly. He continued to fondle Casey's bare arm, up and down, and again, and then his hair. It had that same fragrance from the day of the salon visit; Zeke put his face in it and inhaled.

"I smell good?" came Casey's drowsy voice.

"You smell delicious," Zeke declared. He slipped a greedy hand under the covers and hunted for the edge of Casey's t-shirt. The tips of his fingers brushed Casey's stomach, toying with the soft skin there, and Casey squirmed suddenly and made a noise that could have been annoyance just as easily as arousal. Determined to keep Casey awake a little longer, Zeke slid his hand all the way up the front of Casey, under his t-shirt, while tugging down the bedcovers part way. He indulged in a casual grazing of fingers over Casey's chest, deliberately missing his nipples, hoping to drive him to the more wakeful state of thwarted anticipation.

Casey merely asked him, with eyes closed, "What are you doing?"

"Trying to wake you up. Is it working?"

"No."

"Should I try harder?"

"I'm sleeping, Zeke."

"Oh, so... this doesn't have any affect on you then."

Casey didn't answer, his face relaxed, emptied. Zeke traced irregular shapes one after another on his chest, watching his face closely. Here and there, Casey's breath would stop for just an instant, the spaces around his eyes tightening slightly, and then he would sigh as he breathed out. Zeke could have watched this very entertaining exhibition for hours, but common sense or a conscience or some other killjoy still held some sway over him. He removed his hands from under Casey's shirt even though a fantasy of continuing to touch Casey while he slept was making his body into hormone soup.

Back in the living room, the Connors were once again watching his television and Zeke forced back a momentary surge of resentment at their presence. They did have a right to be here, at Casey's invitation if for no other reason. Frank visually pounced on Zeke when he returned, eyes burning with parental wrath, but Allison merely asked, "Casey's asleep?"

"Yeah, I don't think he'll be waking up this time either."

"It's so early."

"Yeah, well... It seems like those pills pretty much knock him out."

Frank grunted. "At least he'll get a good sleep."

"I was thinking," Zeke said, very careful about the tone he used. "You two shouldn't feel like you have to stay in tonight just because Casey and I are staying in." At the reactions on their faces, he added quickly, "It's not that you aren't welcome... You are, but I just thought you might like some time to yourselves, a chance to go out on the town... you know?"

Allison looked at her husband. "Well," she said uncertainly.

Zeke shrugged. "Whatever you like... I just don't want you folks to be bored. Can I get anyone a beer?"

Reluctantly, Frank said, "Yeah. Thanks."

Zeke brought a beer for himself and Frank, assuming that Allison would have said if she wanted one. Handing one to Frank, he said earnestly, "There's something I need to ask you both."

"Yes?" Allison replied, brows narrowing in a way that was suddenly reminiscent of Casey.

There were few subjects that Zeke had less desire to discuss with these two – but the Connors were Roy's point of access to Casey at the moment and Zeke needed to block that conduit immediately. Lowering his voice, he said, "There was this man that Casey was with the last two years. At school. I guess you know it didn't turn out well."

"Roy," said Frank right away.

Taken aback, Zeke said, "I – didn't know if Casey had told you about him."

"I met him."

Zeke choked on this next words. "You – you met Roy?"

"He came to our house this summer." Frank looked more ashamed than Zeke had ever imagined he could look. "He was so smooth, introducing himself to me. He wanted to talk to Casey and I... I didn't stop it."

It seemed like everyone on the planet had seen Roy in the flesh at least once. Zeke sometimes found it difficult to believe that he actually did exist in the mundane sense, because no mere person could possibly be so very monstrous as he figured in Zeke's mind. Yet Roy had to be a human being who got up and went about his day, who smiled at babies and talked goofy to animals and didn't run people down in his car. He had to possess something worthwhile for Casey to have loved him.

"He was one of these people who just know they can have anything they want," Frank went on, sounding wretched. "I knew what he was about. He talked to Casey like – like he – " The man's voice backed up, emotion clogging his throat.

It wasn't difficult to picture Roy showing up on Casey's doorstep, presenting himself to Casey's father, all smiles and smarm and apologies... Getting his hooks into wounds that he had left in Casey, playing to his vulnerabilities. That had been during the time that Zeke was jerking Casey around, leaving him unsure, exposed – fuck, Zeke couldn't have helped Roy more if he had given Casey a ride to the Best Western on Tuesdays and Thursdays and given him a push out of the Mustang for extra momentum.

"That was the only time I saw him," Frank resumed, looking at Zeke with a most peculiar and pained face, like he was wanting Zeke to absolve him. "Casey was... spending time with him, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

"So you know what happened. That night."

Zeke shook his head. "No... Casey hasn't told me, but I'm pretty sure Roy had something to do with it."

"I was sure that he would have told you."

"He keeps a lot to himself."

Frank gave a snort. "That's for sure – I can't even remember when that happened. Just all of a sudden it seemed like he had a million secrets... " He didn't finish, staring at Zeke, apparently coming to the sudden realization that he and Zeke actually could have certain feelings and ideas in common.

"We didn't come here to check up on you, you know," Allison said abruptly. "We really just wanted to help get him settled... and it just feels better to see where he's living. This is a nice place, Zeke, you've done well... You and Casey and Sasha. Of course we're going to worry, that's what we parents do."

Zeke shrugged. They had to be aware that his experience of parents was something else altogether than Casey's.

"We're not going to be intruding or judging, Zeke. We just want to be in his life... We need to work on that too, we realize we haven't done a good job of it the last few years. And... we can see that he's getting better. We know you have a lot to do with that... we appreciate it."

Zeke felt shocked to the very core of his being.

"I guess what I want to say... what we want to say, Zeke, is... We'd like for you to feel comfortable with us. Comfortable enough to come to our home for holidays, or to phone us yourself if you ever needed anything from us."

The woman had a way of talking when she was making her speeches that was over-sincere and a little bit affected, like she was reading lines from a script about somebody's mother. Her husband was squirming a little, looking off in some other direction, yet Zeke didn't think that he was going to repudiate the statement. Zeke had a feeling they had agreed to it and formulated it together, in advance of the visit.

"Thank you," he said, lacking any other response.

"We mean that, Zeke."

"I know." He tried to picture himself in the Connor home at Christmas, himself and Casey curled up in Casey's old twin-sized bed. It wasn't working – but that was a long way away. Months. First he and Casey had to survive this weekend.

"So what did you want to ask us then?" Frank said.

"Ah... well, the thing is... about Roy... I'm afraid that he hasn't given up on Casey just yet."

"What do you mean?" asked Allison.

"I mean..." Zeke was faced with a split second to decide and did, resolving not to tell them the story of the letter, how they had carried it here in ignorance. They didn't need that. "He might try to contact Casey through you. He knows where you live, right? What I wanted to ask you was to make sure Roy doesn't find out Casey's address or phone number. If he calls or shows up again."

"Of course," Frank said, just a tad scornful about it. Allison nudged her husband. He stiffened, then added unwillingly, "Sorry, I'm... still not very comfortable with this. But if this... man... comes around again, I'll make sure he understands that he's not welcome in Casey's life."

"Thank you."

"No need... " Frank levelled a steady look at Zeke. "It's not like I want history to repeat itself."

Zeke returned it without a flinch. "It won't," he answered calmly.

"Good."

"Frank...." Allison announced suddenly. "I think I would like to go out for a bit after all. Zeke's right... We should try to enjoy the city while we're here."

"Yeah?" Frank said uneasily, and Zeke comprehended that he was just a tiny bit intimidated by the big city.

"I've always wanted to see that Space Needle."

"Don't you think it's a little bit late?"

"It's only sevenish. I'll bet the view at night is spectacular, too."

"Well... How will we get there?"

Zeke heaved an inner sigh. "You can borrow my car."

"No, I think we should use the public transit," Allison said. "That way we can relax and take things in."

Zeke was liking the woman more than he ever could have thought possible. It took more prodding, but she eventually got her husband out the door. Suddenly and miraculously gifted with some time to himself, Zeke found an appropriate TV channel and let his brain rot for a while, helping the process along with six beers.

Sometimes he just really wanted to be Roy. It must be nice to act on all those feelings that Casey was able to stir up just by breathing and being. It must be nice... but meanwhile Zeke would have to fall back on self-abuse. He opened his jeans while he slouched there on the couch, slipping a hand inside his shorts, closing his eyes... It must be nice to feel that sense of entitlement and just act, just go into the bedroom and shake Casey awake, or maybe not wake him, just put his hands and mouth on him, put himself there on Casey while he slept. He would be inside when Casey opened his eyes, those two deep cavities just swallowing the dark and opening to Zeke as he started to move in a tight, hot closeness, Casey's body folded up inside Zeke's, and his eyes would be telling Zeke that there's no one else, no one but you... no I, just you... Zeke.

Zeke made a mess in his boxers. He lay there for a few minutes, just breathing hard and considering his own misery. For too long now he'd been playing the good guy – and he was a good guy, wasn't he? He just needed to be a good guy who could have what he wanted too. Somehow that had to be possible.

He took a long shower, and then returned to the living room couch, afraid of himself, of what might happen if he went to bed. Around eleven-thirty he heard the door and assumed it was Casey's parents returning, but it was Sasha, creeping without a sound into the living room. He looked startled to find Zeke there. "You're up," he noted.

"It's not that late. You're early."

"Yeah, I couldn't stand it, I asked if I could go. Told them I wasn't feeling well." Sasha jerked his head in the direction of the bedrooms. "Everyone else is asleep?"

"Casey is. His parents went out... They're not back yet."

"Really?" Sasha smirked. "Good for them."

"Good for me."

Sasha slipped his jacket off and sat. "They're okay, Zeke. Even Frank. I spent a little time with him today. The man's terrified, Zeke, but he's trying just like the rest of us."

"I know he's trying."

"As far as parents go, Casey could do a lot worse."

"I know that." Zeke tipped up his latest beer and finished it off.

"You're drunk," Sasha realized.

"A bit."

Sasha reached over and took the remote from Zeke. He lowered the volume on the TV to nothing. "Maybe you should just tell Casey about the letter. Don't wait."

"No. I don't want his parents here when I do it. It could get messy."

"It's going to be messy either way."

"They want to spend the day sightseeing tomorrow, and then we have to go to Charly's for dinner."

"Charly's –? You didn't tell me that."

"Well, now you know."

"What does she want?"

"Apparently, just to cook dinner and play aunty. So Casey already has quite enough to handle for tomorrow."

"What about you?" Sasha asked quietly.

"What about me?"

Sasha considered him and said matter-of-factly, "I'm having doubts that you're going to be able to keep it together for two days."

Zeke glared at him. "I'll keep it together, don't you worry."

"Let me rephrase that. You'll keep it together, sure, but should you? It's obvious that something is bothering you, and until you know what that damned letter says it's going to be bothering Casey too."

"It isn't what's in the letter... exactly," Zeke whispered.

"Well, what is it then?"

There seemed no way to say it without sounding like a cranky child: I want him, I'm tired of not having him, it isn't fair.

Zeke closed his eyes and concentrated on maintaining control as he said, "I'm tired of holding back. Roy never has to hold back. He does whatever he wants and fucks up whatever he wants. And here I am... not wanting to fuck up... and so I can't have what I want and Casey can't have what he wants. This whole fucking scenario just seems to get crazier and crazier and I can't help thinking... I know that Casey would feel more secure if... if I stopped holding back, and maybe if he felt more secure I could feel more secure."

After a long pause, Sasha said, sounding amused, "Only you could spin something like that."

"I have to be drunk to achieve that kind of incoherence."

"You're not incoherent." Sasha sighed deeply. "You make sense."

This brought a modicum of hope. "Are you saying... "

"I don't know the answer, Zeke. It makes sense to me right now, but then, we could both be dead wrong. We aren't mental health professionals."

"But we do have a certain expertise."

Sasha gave him that point with a nod and a grin. "You're right at that. We've got graduate degrees in the field of Casey."

"Besides, the last bit of professional advice I got was to keep my distance from Casey. I'm not going to do that."

"I wouldn't want you to."

"So what do you think?"

Sasha reached across and patted Zeke's knee. Zeke was almost undone by the gesture; the last thing he needed when trying to hold it together was some do-gooder coming along and acting nice to him. "I'm not going to give you permission, Zeke, I can't. All I can say is what I said before. I'm trusting you."

Zeke pushed his hand off. "Trust being something you do – "

"– even when there may be a good reason not to," Sasha finished. He smiled brilliantly. "You learn good."

Just for a few seconds, the emotions that Zeke had been barely holding back got away from him. He ground his hand into his face to push them back, and when he looked up... It was silly, but Zeke felt more at peace than he had in – well, hours. Yes, he remembered how he had felt at the beginning of this day. Happy. He wasn't happy now, but he was beginning to recall what it felt like to believe that he could be happy. How he was going to bring it about he had no idea, though. He supposed he would wing it as usual. He was the master of winging it.

"I'm going to bed," he announced, sitting up and stretching. At Sasha's reaction, he added, "To sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

"Hmm... Between you and me, I can't wait to have my bed back."

"I don't think Allison realizes that you won't be coming to dinner tomorrow night. She doesn't understand that you restaurant types don't get Saturday nights off."

"Yeah, I am sorry about that. I would have liked to be there in case that Charlotte Rosado tries anything... but I will go sightseeing with you tomorrow. Where are we going anyway?"

"I have no idea... " Zeke yawned, getting unsteadily to his feet. "Good night."

Sasha waved. "Good night."

Zeke walked into the bedroom, tumbled into bed and wrapped himself around Casey. Casey shifted and twisted around to face him, digging his head in under Zeke's chin, his fingers threading into Zeke's shirtfront as usual. All of Zeke's shirts were now warped and misshapen from sleeping with Casey, but he had stopped minding a while ago. He squeezed Casey close and warm to his chest, and had absolutely no problem falling asleep.

 

It had to be morning yet it was not unlike what Casey remembered from drifting off the night before. Now, like then, was all about Zeke's hands, whose touch he knew completely. Except there seemed to be more of them than usual. There had to be at least six or seven; they were on his face, in his hair, under his shirt. Zeke's tongue and teeth were moving in counterpoint, nibbling, nipping at his bottom lip, dipping into his mouth and then retreating with a smile. It was absolutely Zeke, possessive and smoky and fierce and gentle all at the same time.

Pretending that he was still asleep, Casey let his lips part and move, not entirely kissing back but still participating with his eyes closed. Zeke's practiced fingers found their way delicately around Casey's face. "I know you're awake," Zeke whispered.

Opening his eyes, Casey saw that Zeke's face was hovering over him, his hair adorably mussed. As Casey's eyes travelled he realized that Zeke's chest was bare, t-shirt- less. That went against the norm – unless this was to be one of Zeke's sex therapy sessions.

Zeke was smiling down at him. "You like something you see?" he asked.

"Mmm." While he could, Casey soaked up the last of Zeke's summer tan, of the smooth, golden skin over broad muscle.

"Anything you want to touch?"

Startled, Casey turned a look up at Zeke. "Yes..." he replied uncertainly.

"Same here," Zeke whispered. "But you first."

Casey licked his lips as something got stretched and taut inside him. It was almost like desire, but now he was afraid. The guidelines were suddenly nowhere in evidence. Maybe Zeke was having some kind of attack of amnesia. Maybe he had hit his head in the shower recently.

Whatever the reasons, Casey didn't think he should remind him. He let his hands travel over Zeke's chest, just ghosting over, finding the deep groove down the centre of his torso and exploring it, and the row of neat ridges that divided abdominal muscles. Zeke's body shuddered as Casey's fingers got closer to his belly, and then lower, as far as the slight thickening of hair just above his crotch. Zeke arched a little in anticipation and then in surprise as Casey's hand turned back towards his upper chest. Casey tried not to dwell on the fear lurking in the wings, just keeping its distance for now, letting him perform. There was just a tingling, an almost-resolving into a pleasant ache in his groin, and then as he fastened his mouth on Zeke's nipple and Zeke bucked against him, driving his erection into Casey's hip, it happened, Casey was hard and he almost started to cry because it had happened so naturally and easily. He didn't know how long it would hold, how long it would be before fear obliterated it.

He let his hand creep downwards again, expecting to be stopped when he got near Zeke's crotch. But he wasn't stopped. He froze, wavering, looking up at Zeke as worry built in him.

"It's okay," Zeke whispered to him, cupping his chin and leaning in for a fresh sampling of Casey's mouth.

Nope, not okay, not. Casey withdrew and cradled his hands against his chest, thinking about the consequences of having them where they had been if that was where they were not supposed to be. "What's happening, I don't..."

A thumb stroked his jaw. "Shh... it's nothing scary."

"But – don't know what's – "

Zeke's thumb moved to his forehead, actively attempting to smooth the stress out of his skin. "I've just been thinking... we need new guidelines."

"Why... ?"

Zeke didn't reply at first. Up against Zeke's chest as he was, Casey couldn't quite see his face, he couldn't get a straight-on look into Zeke's eyes, where he might have found the answer. Zeke just kept holding him, stroking him without urgency until at last he said, "Because it's what we want... isn't it?"

Casey's mind was whirling with piecemeal half-thoughts and images and sparking with bewildered desire. His hands drifting south once more, he asked, "So... I can I make you come?"

"Is it what you want?"

"Yeah," he whispered.

Zeke's body tensed, a long shiver going through him. "There's a problem with that," he breathed.

"What?"

"I wish your parents weren't on the other side of this wall."

"Oh, shit." Casey snapped his hands back for the last time, resting them against Zeke's chest. There was no way he could do anything with his mother and father that close, even if they didn't hear a sound. It just felt too weird. "I forgot."

"I kinda figured." Zeke took one of his hands, gripping it reassuringly.

"Sorry, Zeke."

"What for? There's no rush, Case. Just think..." Zeke was touching his face again, raising goosebumps all over him. It was a thing that Zeke did, moving his fingers on Casey's skin to no real purpose. He was not trying to be expressive about it, he just wanted to touch but he was expressive, he was a fucking artist actually. "Soon they'll be on their way home and Sasha will be at work until late almost every night... hours and hours all alone, needing to get filled..."

Right on cue, Casey heard the slight creaking of the floor elsewhere in the apartment, signalling that Sasha was moving around. If Sasha was up, everyone else would be soon. Nuzzling Zeke's palm, Casey murmured, "Time's not the only thing that needs to get filled."

Zeke tightened up, freezing for a few seconds while the flush of pink and heat swept over his body. He kissed Casey's hand once again, then replaced it against his chest and said, "Hold that thought."

Like Casey could do otherwise. Like he was actually trying to convince Zeke to mount him right now. Like he was so wanton that he would beg Zeke to fuck him with his mother and father within earshot. "Until when?" he demanded. He knew how he sounded but he couldn't seem to help himself. Apparently, under the new regime he was free to suggest or offer anything as long as he expected nothing.

Zeke was withdrawing from him and his tone. "I don't know, Case, but not now. I'm going to grab a quick shower." He was out of bed and out the door before Casey could reply.

Casey sat up, resting his back against the wall, pulling up his knees and draping his arms around them. He heard Zeke and Sasha encountering each other, saying good morning, then Zeke closing the door to the bathroom. The shower was running and there was movement on the other side of the wall, his parents stirring from sleep. His dad made loud, groaning noises as he stretched out the kinks in his back, just as he did every morning.

With guilty discomfort, Casey recalled yelling at his father yesterday. He didn't like to be angry, he didn't want to be angry. Anger wasn't something real, it always went away like it never existed and then you had to mop up everything that got spilled. Better not to spill in the first place. It was a perfectly legitimate decision to make when you really weighed the pros and cons, and he was pretty sure he had done that some time back. His anger was not as important to him as that. Other things were far more important.

Casey moved to the edge of the bed, halfway determined to go next door and apologize. He thought he was going to do it, except then the bathroom door was open and his father was up and moving, making his regular morning visit to the toilet and Zeke was back in the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.

Zeke dropped the towel without any apparent self-consciousness, standing naked with his back to Casey while he searched the dresser. Casey didn't want to look at him, refusing the implication that Zeke would be naked with him as long as it wasn't sexual. When he looked back Zeke was getting dressed, pulling on one of his usual pairs of jeans with a black, long-sleeved shirt of some kind of tight, stretchy ribbed fabric that left every line of his chest and shoulders on display, and then over that another shirt, a deep, deep blue that was left open and untucked. He looked over his shoulder with a smile and caught sight of Casey, sitting on the edge of the bed still in his sleep attire, watching him.

"Whatcha doing there?" he asked Casey. His eyes drifted to the shopping bags on the floor, as yet unpacked, then back to Casey. He came to Casey, sitting down on the bed and tugging Casey to him so that Casey was standing between Zeke's denim-clad knees. "Talk to me," Zeke said, arms circling him loosely

Casey shook his head.

"Thinking about today?"

It came back to him with a bit of a shock. They were to go "sightseeing", whatever that entailed, and then to Charly's house for supper and they would see Stan, and Zeke would undoubtedly end up fighting with him. Stan and Zeke would argue about whether or not it was right for Zeke to be with Casey, and meanwhile Charly would be looking at Casey with that scientific stare of assessment, trying to decide what she could get away with and maybe blurting out questions in front of his parents and the others, and at the same time his parents would be trying to turn Charly into Casey's surrogate guardian because she was the only adult of their generation on hand.

Casey took a tremulous breath that he could feel wavering in his throat, barely making it to the top of his lungs. Zeke lifted Casey's hands and draped them around his neck, basically forcing him to sit on Zeke's lap. "It's going to be a long day," Zeke commented quietly.

"Yeah," Casey agreed, wishing desperately that he could just skip the entire expedition.

"What if you just bring a Xanax with you?" Zeke proposed. "Keep it in your back pocket, so to speak."

"Okay," he said quickly. He had learned his lesson yesterday.

"You could try taking half of one, maybe that would help without making you sleepy."

"Okay – Zeke?"

"What?"

"Why?"

He hadn't intended to say anything. This seemed to happen more frequently lately. He would hear a bunch of words and realize after the fact that they were coming from his mouth and it was too late to stop them.

"Why what?"

Lifting his head off Zeke's shoulder, Casey asked, "Why – why change – the guidelines?"

He didn't know what kind of answer he wanted. He wasn't even sure which question he was asking, and now he was regretting it totally because there was That Thing in Zeke again. It was the same Thing that had been bothering Zeke yesterday, a rigidity to his posture, a knowledge of something that he did and didn't want to share.

"I just thought it was time," Zeke said.

It was definitely one of his more lame evasions. And Casey was himself too much of a coward to push for a real answer which made the two of them a perfect match.

Zeke nodded his head towards the shopping bags. "I'll bet there's something interesting in there."

Casey could play along; he did play along. "Yeah, Sasha took over yesterday."

"Of course he did – and what did your mom think about that?"

"She thinks Sasha can do no wrong."

"Not!" Zeke snorted. "Obviously she doesn't know him very well. So... why don't you get dressed and we'll see what everyone wants to do for breakfast."

Casey was left to himself for grooming. He chose a pair of tan cargo pants and a long-sleeved pseudo-suede shirt with a v-neck. Sasha had insisted on three of those, in maroon, deep blue, and tan. Casey went with the maroon, then headed to the bathroom to take his pill, brush his teeth and manipulate his hair. It felt like he was getting ready for his own funeral.

When he emerged into the kitchen, his mom seemed to be detailing to Sasha an outing that she and his dad had taken last night after Casey went to bed. Zeke was lounging against the fridge, his eyes appraising Casey, glinting with proprietary hunger now that he was in a situation where he didn't have to follow through on it. Casey let him have a good long look before turning his attention to his parents and Sasha.

"... just incredible view from the observation deck, all those lights spread out... and then we took the monorail to this bar, it had a jazz band with a woman singer – " His mother broke off and took in his appearance, her eyes getting brighter.

"Ah, kitten!" Sasha exclaimed. "That's much better. Now all you need are a few accessories, and we need to get you to the salon for phase two."

Casey's dad shifted in his chair and glared at Sasha.

"What's phase two?" asked his mom.

"I can't tell you, it's classified information." Sasha made a huge smirk of his face, then added, more sedately, "Don't worry, it's nothing scary."

Casey's dad looked to him in despair. Please put a stop to this his eyes begged with Casey, not daring to comment out loud. It seemed that Casey's outburst yesterday had shaken him. That wasn't the Frank Connor that Casey knew, the guy who felt qualified to comment on any aspect of anyone's life that he happened to have an opinion about. Casey didn't really expect or require him to be any other way.

On an instant of inspiration, Casey walked up to his father. The way that his father stared at him, he might have been thinking that Casey was going to hit him. Far from that, he put a hand on the man's shoulder and bending down, kissed him on the cheek. His father reared back slightly and went red in the face. Casey figured he had better give his mom the same treatment, and so he did, leaving his two parents utterly stupified.

It was probably best to give them some space to recover their composure. Casey went to pour himself a glass of juice, displacing Zeke – who appeared almost equally pole-axed – from his recline against the fridge as he did so.

Sasha wore a face-splitting grin as he tossed some words into the chasm of silence. "So I have a question. How are we all going to get to wherever we're going? Zeke's car is a tight fit for four, never mind five." His gaze flickered in Casey's direction. "The only alternative would be public transit."

Zeke supplied, "Or a cab. We could ask them to send something that would seat five."

"Why not take the bus?" Mom wondered, already regaining some balance as the subject turned to practical matters. "We used it last night. I like it, we get to see more that way and not worry about whether we're going in the wrong direction."

"Um... well..." hemmed Sasha, looking to Casey for help.

"Is there a reason why we shouldn't?" Mom wanted to know.

Casey said, "You went out last night? Where'd you go?"

"Oh, hon, we went to the Space Needle, I always wanted to see it, I hope you don't mind – !"

"No, I don't mind." Casey jammed his hands in his pockets. "The bus sounds like a good idea, Mom."

Now Zeke and Sasha were frantically trying to message him, but he shrugged them off, trying to indicate that it was okay. Well, it was not okay, but it would have to be.

"Okay, then, sounds like a plan," Zeke said, somewhat apprehensively. "And what about breakfast?"

Sasha huffed, "Don't look at me. I didn't think it was possible but I might be experiencing culinary fatigue."

Mom said, placating, "Well, at least you don't have to cook tonight."

"Actually, I do."

"But I thought – aren't we going to Stan's aunt's place?"

"You are," Sasha broke the news gently. "But I have to work. We always work Saturdays in the fine dining biz."

"Oh. I didn't realize."

"Believe me, I wish I could go with you."

"I'd like to try that coffee place down the street," Dad suggested. "I think they have some nice baking there."

"Sounds good," Zeke said agreeably.

Casey's parents went ahead, wanting to avoid a traffic jam on the narrow metal steps from their door down to the alleyway. While the rest of them were getting their shoes on, Zeke added sotto voce, as he handed Casey his fleece, "Are you sure about this?"

Casey replied, "Yes," even as he was monitoring the usual vital signs: racing heart, dry throat, numbness down his arms and a big white-out of fear in his head.

"All right, but no coffee for you," Sasha said, holding the door open.

Casey zipped up his fleece and complained, "Just a small one?"

"Nope," Zeke confirmed. He frowned, looking like he wanted to push Casey back inside and put a deadbolt on the door to keep him in.

"Believe me," Casey said dryly as he headed for the door, wanting to put his friends at ease, "Any anxiety I'd get from caffeine would be drowned out by my general terror."

Zeke's head snapped around. For a half-second he stared at Casey, before snickering so loudly that he nearly drowned out Sasha's guffaw of laughter.

By the time they got to the coffee shop, however, Casey was long past being able to joke about anything. The shop was a lot busier than any place he'd been lately; it was sheer luck that they were able to get a table. Casey couldn't swallow a bite of his muffin for fear of gagging it back up, and even coffee held no attraction. He ate half a Xanax for breakfast, washed down by a glass of water.

Over breakfast, several prospective tourist destinations were put on the table... the art museum, the science centre, the Experience Music Project, the aquarium... Casey seized on the last, envisioning himself walking through quiet, dark caverns walled with colourful fish and cushioned with silence. The other places might have interested him if he had been at all capable of curiosity on this day. He made a pitch for the aquarium, with the art museum a close second. He was playing the sick card, expecting that whatever he asked to see would trump, and it did.

There was nothing he could do about the bus ride, though. He'd already agreed to it, it was a go. Maybe the half Xanax did help; it was distinctly possible that without it he might have begun to bang his head against the window like Mary Stuart Masterson in Benny and Joon – poor sick girl being taken away from the safe environment she knew she just couldn't cope she wasn't meant to be out there in the world – but he couldn't get anywhere near the glass. The bus had been more than half full when they got on and Casey elected to stand in the aisle rather than sit next to a stranger. Zeke had taken the free seat so Casey was safe on that side, but there were people behind and beside who would sway or stagger into him every time the bus stopped or slowed down. There were many conversations going on around him at the same time that Casey couldn't follow.... city council stupid politicians even if they were just municipal did you catch the game last night they should have more foresight try final fantasy five wicked game. Someone jostled him, and he started to flinch back just as he noticed it was Zeke, but a Zeke surrounded by a strange, flat light that seemed composed of darkness too. Zeke was moving, inobtrusively putting his arms around Casey, pushing him toward the exit because we transfer here and Casey knew he was walking but he felt like he didn't quite exist either.

Then it was another bus but at least this time he got a seat next to a window with Zeke as his seatmate. His head swam as he stared out the window, staring at the press of human beings. Dimly he was aware that Zeke had his hand and was methodically stroking a finger down his palm. His mom was sitting in front and twisted around to talk to him and when she was done he didn't know what she had said. Zeke rescued him by jumping in, acting like he was interrupting Casey on the verge of saying something.

Somehow, they arrived at the aquarium whole and intact. It took a while to complete the process of paying admission and getting a guide to the exhibits. It wasn't quite like Casey had expected, but there were some walks among enormous aquariums, mostly featuring species of marine life indigenous to the northwest. Casey could see that Zeke's acquisitive brain had taken over; he lingered over every species, reading all the information that was available. Meanwhile Casey found a place to sit and just watched. The motion of the animals underwater was as soothing as he had expected. Hypnotic, even. He wondered what it was like to always be bathed in that quiet – or was it quiet there? It must be, and there would be no sense of weight. Skin wouldn't feel like skin. Touching would be a whole other proposition with the water mediating it. He wondered if the animals had any sense of being apart from the ocean, or if they considered themselves all of one thing, this fluid moving entity.

"Hey, pal."

His dad was speaking to him, looking down at Casey with that slightly puzzled, almost cross-eyed expression he wore when Casey was doing something that really baffled him. The Xanax must have finally kicked in a bit; Casey had a somnolent appreciation of how he could have sat on this little vinyl bench all day, envying these creatures who were actually trapped inside a glass box full of cold water.

"We're moving on," his dad said, and put a hand on his shoulder.

The other exhibits weren't nearly as fascinating. Casey decided to stay on his feet to combat the tug and pull of sleepiness, and by the time they left it had passed. His stomach was starting to complain again, queasy and hungry at the same time. With perfect timing, Zeke suggested that they stop somewhere for lunch, and Sasha immediately recommended a café that was known for its exotic soups and sandwiches. It all tasted fine going down, but then they had to get on another bus, to the museum this time, and Casey began to appreciate just how his lunch would taste coming back up. It didn't help when they got back on the bus and he had some small child sitting behind him who thought it was funny to pull on his hair. The mother kept telling him to stop and apologizing but it wasn't having much effect. Casey had a wicked fantasy of turning around and barfing all over the child, which just as easily could have been reality.

Clammy sweat had glued his shirt to his back by the time they got to the museum. He wanted to lay down on the cool marble floor in the lobby and not move for the rest of the day. He must have looked as rotten as he felt; upon getting a direct look at him, his mom exclaimed, "Oh, hon, are you okay?"

The world rotated nauseatingly when he moved his head. "Lunch doesn't want to stay put," he said.

Zeke responded quickly. "Maybe a drink of something cold will help. There's a café in here, I'll take you."

"No, I'll do it," Sasha volunteered. "You folks go on, we'll catch up to you."

"But we can go with you," Mom protested.

Casey said, "No, please, Mom... Dad. I don't want you to miss anything because of me... Okay?"

His dad visibly deferred to his mom, who pressed her lips together, coercing them into a smile. "Okay, sweetie."

In the cafeteria Sasha found them a table near the back, next to the fire exit. Casey gulped down the other half Xanax with mineral water; he had been forbidden even soda unless he could be certain there was no caffeine in it.

"You still look a little green around the gills," Sasha remarked. "Maybe you should skip Charly's dinner."

Casey shook his head.

"Why not?"

He just sipped his mineral water, too tired to explain that if he didn't go, either Zeke or his parents would want to stay home with him and if that happened then whoever was left would bail and there would be no dinner, while Zeke for some reason, had wanted them to go. Besides which Casey didn't think he could keep from losing it if Zeke went to Charly's without him, with no designated return time. He probably would lose it anyway if he went to Charly's, but at least he would have Zeke nearby... Zeke who been upset and angry yesterday and decreed that they were going to Charly's like he was just wanted to spite Casey, who would have to confront Stan and all his heterosexual male reasoning again just when he wasn't feeling very happy with Casey not that Casey had any idea why.

"You look busy," Sasha broke in.

"Huh?"

"What's running around in your head, kitten?"

He looked up from the bottle he had clasped in his hands. "Sasha... something's wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"Zeke, he's... unhappy about something."

Sasha looked caught.

"He told you, didn't he?" Casey begged. Sasha had a lot of talents, but lying had never been one of them. He knew something. He knew That Thing. And it was really happening this time, really happening... Everyone knew That Thing even his parents probably knew That Thing and he didn't. "You know what it is but I don't. You know and I don't – " His gorge rose despite his best efforts to force it down.

Sasha stood when Casey did, looking panicked. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom."

He didn't quite run; Sasha came right after him, keeping up easily with his long strides. So much for the Xanax. Sasha loomed over him, rubbing his back as he heaved again and again. It seemed like his body was trying to turn itself inside out. He was too exhausted to move when he was finished, remaining slumped on the floor. "Zeke isn't happy," he mumbled.

"What – ?" Sasha's voice said.

"It's... He isn't happy... with me."

"Casey, listen – " Sasha tugged at his shoulders, reaching over his head to flush the toilet. "I'm not going to talk to you like this. Get up at least. Please."

He obeyed, standing and leaning against the back of the stall with the door wide open. Sasha offered him a hard candy that he had dug out of one of his pockets. He took it gratefully, popping it in his mouth. Licorice. He hated licorice but anything was better than what he was tasting right now.

"Will you come out?" Sasha said.

He shook his head.

"Okay. We'll talk here." Sasha glanced over Casey's shoulder, at some other person in the bathroom, Casey realized. He hadn't noticed that there was anyone else in here when he plunged through the door a few minutes ago. "We're fine."

"Are you sure?" said a young, male voice.

"Yes. It's all right."

Casey heard the door swing and creak. Closing his eyes, he shivered and said, "You know what it is."

Sasha didn't answer.

"Sasha."

"Okay, yes – shit, Zeke's going to kill me. I can't lie to you, kitten. I suck at it. If you hadn't come out and asked like that – but who knew you were going to do that?"

"You're not helping me now."

"No, of course... I'm going to tell you, it's just that Zeke wanted to be the one..."

"It happened yesterday. Something made Zeke – I did something, he was mad at me."

"No, Casey – it wasn't you."

"But he was mad at me."

Sasha paused, then said, "Yes, but that was him being an asshole, it was nothing you actually did." But a moment of uncertainty moved across his face, and he added, "I'm sure you didn't."

"I... didn't what?" Casey whispered, looking at Sasha for the first time since he had started this and he wished he hadn't now, oh god how he wished he hadn't. He didn't like the way he was starting to just say things sometimes, it was all the Paxil's fault, it had to be. So much safer not to speak but he was in it now and there was no way to put the brakes on.

"Okay, I'll just spit it out," Sasha sighed. "Roy sent you a letter, kitten."

Casey blinked, not understanding. "A letter."

"Yes, your mom brought it, not realizing I guess that it was from him, not that it would have made any difference. He wrote it, now you get the pleasure of reading it."

"Does he..." Casey's voice failed him. "Does he know where I am?"

"I doubt it."

He remembered his mom saying she had brought mail, and seeing some letters in the bedroom. He hadn't even looked at them. "And Zeke... saw the letter?"

"He didn't read it, but yeah. He's very ashamed, kitten, that he acted the way he did. Don't be too mad at him, he just freaked... the guy's crazy in love with you."

A letter from Roy. He couldn't make sense of those words but he understood instantly what it meant, how Zeke must have felt when he saw it, how he had known in his heart that Casey was still thinking about Roy, that Casey would go running back to Roy in a second so he had better cut his losses. Maybe he was gone already. Maybe Sasha was even helping him by taking Casey away to the café so Zeke could make his escape and maybe Roy was on his way here to take Casey back with him, back to her even though she hadn't actually wanted him in the end and what would Roy have to say to him Roy never had to say anything he would just show up and expect things all the things that happened before because there were no limits Casey doesn't have any limits right baby so then he would have to lay down with them and let her have him finally... then quiet in his head like in one of those tanks, floating in the dark and cold...

A trio of shakes from the hand on his arm roused him. "What?"

"You were out of it, Casey."

"I... " His mouth wouldn't form words. "Where's Zeke?"

"Well, he's somewhere in this building, I guess."

"N-need him..."

"Okay, kitten." Sasha hugged Casey's numb, quaking body tightly. "We'll find him."

 

Somehow it had been far less stressful when Casey was just a depressive lump in a hospital bed. These days Casey's moods ranged far and wide, from one extreme to another, from asexual cuddler to pouty minx, screamingly funny to frozen with terror. It was the extremes that were going to kill Zeke.

There had been Casey's unexpected assertiveness this morning, catching Zeke so very much off guard that he stammered and ducked like an imbecile. Oh, yeah, he'd been completely true to form, hadn't he – and Casey hadn't failed to notice it. Zeke never ceased to be astounded by Casey's generosity. It was a generosity that shimmered right through the distortions of passive aggression and occasional just plain bitchiness. That performance in the kitchen this morning had been a perfect, sublime demonstration – kissing both his parents on the cheek, Casey had somehow managed to say without speaking a word that he forgave everything, without even admitting that he was pissed off about anything. And then there had been Casey's quip as they were leaving the apartment, so obviously a gift to Zeke and Sasha, a device to put them at ease. After all that, watching Casey gradually become a quivering wraith as the day went on was utter agony. There had been a terrible moment on the bus when Zeke felt certain that Casey had become catatonic in the most clinical sense of the word. He envisioned scene after terrible scene, every single one inflicting new layers of misery: Himself carrying a limp, frosty-eyed Casey out of the bus and onto the street, trying to get a cab, trying to shield him from public eyes, trying to explain it all to Casey's parents or to some doctor... Yes, we decided to take the bus... Yes, we should have known better but I really thought it would be okay...

And now here was something else again: Sasha and Casey were coming at Zeke from across a room full of paintings, drawing plenty of attention as they did. At a distance, Casey's obvious distress was worrying; close-up, it was just plain scary. Just as Casey seemed in position to launch himself into Zeke's arms, he stopped a few feet away, staring fearfully.

"Casey?"

Casey closed his eyes, while visible tremors took hold of him. He burst out, "I didn't do anything. I didn't write him, I didn't phone him... I didn't phone him, I swear it. I don't – w-want to go to him – don't want to – to be with him, I don't, really... " By the time he got to this point he was nearly babbling, shaking his hands frantically, his eyes distended and gaping. He had wound himself up right in front of Zeke, and Zeke just stood there and watched.

Zeke calmed the prattle in his own mind. He grasped Casey's shoulders, catching him in mid spin. "Casey."

"I didn't, Zeke," Casey said again.

"What the hell?" Zeke demanded, drawing Casey in towards his body and cuddling him there. He had never felt so entirely on stage as he did at this precise moment.

"I'm sorry, Zeke," Sasha answered quickly, a little wild looking. "He just asked me out of the blue what was going on and I couldn't lie."

The Connors – who had been one gallery ahead of Zeke because he was so busy contemplating the mysteries of Casey that he'd kept zoning out in front of whatever it was he was supposed to be looking at – had come back to see what was happening. "What is this?" hissed Frank, trying to stare down the curious around them. No doubt at least half his anger originated in embarrassment.

Zeke shoved all his feelings down into a teeny tiny box in the back of his head. He needed to function, to take care of Casey and get them home and safe so they could talk. He had been quite prepared to wait on this until tomorrow, but apparently, thanks to Sasha being a sentimental idiot who couldn't keep a secret if his life depended on it, it was happening now.

He said, "I think Casey and I are going to take a cab home now. Don't worry, it'll be fine, we just need to talk over some things. Can you folks... if you don't mind... give us some space?"

Frank Connor passed from furious to apoplectic. He opened his mouth, but Allison dug her elbow into his gut. "Okay, Zeke," she said. "We can do that."

"I don't think we'll be going to Charly's for supper."

"We can go without you. I'd like to meet her." Allison's elbow was still wedged in her husband's belly. "We'll give her your regrets – you have the address?"

"Yes, it's... 414 Chestnut, I think. I have it written down at home, if you want to phone in a little while I can check it for you. Stokes is probably at work right now, but if you want you could hook up with her and Stan and then you won't have to worry about how to get there."

"That sounds fine."

"Thank you," Zeke said, and meant it.

"It's okay." Allison looked sadly at her son, who had evidently gone far beyond her ability to comfort with hugs and meatloaf sandwiches. After a brief, affectionate rub on Casey's arm, she led the unwilling Frank Connor away.

"I'll go back on the bus with them," Sasha said, his eyes begging for absolution.

"Sure," Zeke said. He knew it was pointless and stupid to be angry with Sasha and he wasn't really. He forced himself to say with a touch more warmth, "See you in a bit."

"Zeke, I'm – "

"It's okay."

Casey didn't say a word as Zeke guided him out of the building. He was in some other place entirely when Zeke put him in the cab and Zeke didn't do anything to bring him out of it. He kept Casey close with an arm tucked around his shoulders and talked nonsense at him, ignoring the driver's unhappy, bigoted face in the mirror, until just as they turned onto their street something in the way Casey held his body told Zeke that he had shaken off his trance.

Upstairs in their apartment, Zeke led Casey directly into the bedroom, letting him sit or lie down, whatever he preferred; Casey chose the very edge of the bed, like he was afraid even to assume that he was welcome there. He was shivering noticeably despite the fleece that he was still wearing; Zeke retrieved an extra blanket from the linen closet and draped it around him, and for a while just sat rubbing his back, helping to get warm.

It was when Zeke got up to leave the second time that Casey spoke, pulling back on Zeke's hand when he tried to detach it. "Where are you going?"

"Just to – to get the letter."

"I didn't phone him."

Zeke stood still. "I know," he said finally.

"I – I didn't – Zeke – "

"I know, Casey."

"I can't," Casey said then. "I can't read it, I... you should have just kept it. You should have burned it!"

"Case," Zeke said, just the one word.

"I don't have to read it! I won't – "

"You do have to read it," Zeke said, very softly. "I think it's important, whatever he has to say, whether it's good or bad."

"No."

"I'll sit here with you while you do it, or I'll leave you alone, whatever you want."

"But I – " Casey gulped.

"Let me go and get it," Zeke coaxed, prying his fingers out of Casey's grasp. "I'll be a second."

The cursed object was still in his jacket pocket, a bit crumpled. He loathed and detested the very sight of the handwritten D. Windle but still he brought it back, put it on bedside table along with a fresh glass of water. Still blanket-wrapped, Casey had pulled his feet onto the bed, making himself small and compact as though he could actually make himself impervious to harm that way when they both knew good and damn well that it was useless. He didn't look at the rectangle of cream-coloured paper that sat quiescent on the table.

"Do you think you should take a Xanax right now?"

Casey expressed his agreement by retrieving the already well-broken-in bottle of pills. He washed one down quickly then subsided into Zeke's hold once more. They sat that way in silence for a while, until Zeke simply had to speak. Sure, Casey was clinging to him now, but that didn't mean he wasn't furious, or that he wouldn't become furious in the very near future. Casey's emotions never came in any predictable order.

"I was a total asshole yesterday," was what Zeke said. "I saw that letter and I grabbed it, which was wrong big time. When I saw his name... I couldn't think. I completely flipped out. And then I took it out on you and there's no excuse for that."

"You thought I was still in contact with him," Casey mumbled. "Why shouldn't you, after the things I – I did."

"I'm supposed to trust you, though. I do trust you."

"Don't... I'm not..."

"You said it yourself, Case, just a few minutes ago. You didn't contact him, and you don't want to be with him."

"But I –"

"You don't want to be with him. Right?"

"Right," Casey whispered.

"You want to be with me. No matter what the letter says."

"Yes."

"So we have nothing to be afraid of."

Casey burrowed into Zeke. "But I am afraid."

"I know."

"He – he can – say things – "

"He can only have the power that you give him, Case."

"Will you – ?" Casey said. "Would you read it first? Tell me if there's anything bad in it?"

Zeke took the time to consider and form his answer very carefully.

"Casey, I have no idea what would be good or bad, really. I know very little about Roy. I don't know his style, although I have some ideas from what Sasha's told me."

"Sasha could – "

"This is for you to do, Casey."

"You don't understand."

"No, I don't, but I do know that you should read this letter."

"I can't be... don't want to."

"Casey. Open the letter and read it."

Impossibly, Casey was getting even smaller inside his arms.

"Please, Casey." Zeke was forced to take drastic measures. He let go of Casey, taking away his shelter. "Do it for me if you can't do it for yourself."

"You read it, then," Casey muttered. "You're the one who wants to know what it says."

Zeke reached over, grabbed the envelope, and put it in Casey's hand. "Read it," he said.

Of course he felt like a shit as Casey finally tore open the envelope, staring accusingly at Zeke, as though Zeke had ordered him to put his hand in an open flame. Unfolding the pages seemed a physical challenge that was almost beyond his abilities.

"Read," Zeke commanded.

Applying himself to it with no slight degree of despair, Casey read. The temporal order must have been in disarray or something because it felt like it took Casey several years to finish two pages. Once or twice Casey almost broke down, but he would grind the heel of his palm into his eye, glance at Zeke to make sure he was still under orders, and continue. Zeke watched his eyes move down the first page, watched some more as he shuffled papers.

Finally he got to the bottom of the second page and his eyes stuck there, staring unseeing at it. No silence had ever been so silent. It took only a minute or so for Zeke to break.

He asked plainly, "Can I help?"

"You want to know what it says, I suppose."

"Well, yes, but you don't have to – "

Casey barked a laugh. "Oh, now I don't have to do something."

"Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah." Casey was making a sound that could have been a laugh, while wiping at a tear that had welled up and fallen suddenly. "I'm great."

Zeke put a hand on his arm. "Casey."

"Don't," Casey said, tearing it away.

"Case... I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I had to read it so you could know."

"Of course I want to know what he wrote – "

"Here, then." Casey shoved the papers at Zeke. "You should know what I am... there... enjoy. I'm having a nap."

"Okay, yes, but you don't – " Zeke broke off, seeing Casey turning sideways so his back was to Zeke, preparatory to lying down. Zeke tossed the letter down on the bed and grabbed Casey's shoulder. "Casey, don't hide from me."

Twisting his body around and upright, Casey turned on Zeke. "Why not? You hide from me. You always hide from me." His voice started out quiet but it was laced with rage and hurt and fear that were rising with every word. He was finding another position, a defensive almost-crouch, fists tucked under his arms and arms clenched around his chest while he pressed his upper body against his bent knees. "All you see when you look at me is alien... all the time just fucking alien."

"That's -- not true," Zeke stammered, but Casey went on, not looking at him, staring at the end of their bed.

"I'm not normal, right? I guess I don't have a choice about ordinary or not ordinary but I get so tired sometimes and I just want – to – I tried, I tried and he knew, he saw me, he wanted... I – I just wanted it to be quiet – I just wanted it to be quiet. I wanted to know what it was like."

"What what was like?" The question burst out of Zeke although he should have known better than to even try. Again Casey didn't seem to hear him. He kept talking in that voice with its terrifying, furious calm.

"... thought it would be like she said but – then I was still – I didn't – I just wanted to belong for once, just one fucking time but that wasn't enough for her even, I still wasn't good enough."

There would be no making sense of it, not now. Zeke accepted that and made a move to touch him, wanting only to make him hurt less. "Casey, please, let me – "

"No, don't!" From an almost monotone, Casey's voice suddenly went to a place of absolute frenzy. His back had straightened and with arms still tight about himself he was staring at Zeke as though he couldn't be sure that he knew a thing about him. His chest was heaving. "Don't even try!"

Zeke held up his hands. "Okay. I won't, but – please, can you talk to me? I don't understand – "

"I don't want to talk!" Casey screamed at him. "I want it to be quiet, I don't want to I try not to but it's always talk to me Casey tell me what's wrong Casey! I want to sleep!"

"All right," Zeke backpedalled, his voice rough with suppressed panic. "All right, Casey, I won't say a word, just let me stay with you. I won't say a word."

Casey didn't reply to that. Zeke edged in his direction while Casey's eyes tracked every inch that Zeke moved, watching him get near. "You shouldn't touch me," Casey said, his breath labouring.

"I am, though."

"You shouldn't."

"I'm touching you," Zeke said, finally getting his arms around him, just making a circle that had Casey within it. "Because I want to. Because you're the most beautiful person I've ever met in real life."

There was a noise from Casey, a gulping sob. "I wanna sleep, Zeke. I can't – be awake right now."

"Okay, we'll sleep." Zeke had no intention of sleeping but this was one of those situations when a lie didn't have to be a bad thing. He got himself into a semi-reclining position, propping himself against his pillow, and threw his arms wide in welcome – but Casey rejected his offer. He positioned himself near Zeke, on his side, facing but not looking at Zeke. Once again he wrapped his arms around himself, tucking in his hands.

"Zeke."

"Hmmm?"

"I'm not mad at you," he whispered.

"Okay."

"I'm not... might seem... but I'm not... "

"Okay."

"You'll... stay here?"

"Of course."

A chunk of time passed. Casey's breathing got easier, his body loosening, unclenching. Just when Zeke was sure that Casey was down for the count, he looked up at Zeke with eyes at half-mast and said, "Don' wanna be with him... Zeke."

"I know," Zeke said again, stroking Casey's hair at the nape of his neck.

"He... can't find me... he's gone..."

"Yes. He's gone." Guyhood completely compromised now, Zeke kissed the top of Casey's head and murmured, "Go to sleep. You're safe."

With that, Casey surrendered to sleep.

The pages of the letter were still lying on the bed, looking innocent. Carefully, Zeke reached over. He folded up the letter and placed it on the night table. He stared at it for a long time, trying to think through his dilemma. After he had gone around the same points several times in a great, galactic circle, the only thing he could decide was that he should talk to Sasha about it. In the meantime, he picked up his issue of Scientific American that had been his bedtime reading the last couple of days and tried to concentrate on the wonders of nanotechnology and sheep cloning.

He had only managed to take in two paragraphs when he heard Sasha come in. He listened to Sasha puttering around, no doubt getting ready for work. He crept off the bed, monitoring Casey for signs of disturbance.

He found Sasha sitting on the couch dressed for work with hands folded and face in a waiting pose; Zeke was the surgeon coming to deliver good or bad news to loved ones. "It's okay," he told Sasha which was a huge fib because he really had no idea. "Casey's asleep. I'm going to just sit with him... actually, I don't want to be gone for too long. Did they connect with Stokely?"

Sasha nodded. "It's all good."

"She knows that Casey and I wouldn't be there?"

"Yes. She was disappointed of course. She figured something was going on and wanted to call right away but I managed to convince her not to, not today anyway."

"Thanks."

"I've got to get to work," Sasha said, getting to his feet.

Zeke tailed him all the way to the door. Right there, they just stopped and stared at each other.

"Take the car," Zeke offered.

"Did he read it?" Sasha whispered. At Zeke's nod, he added, "And?"

Zeke shook his head. "Your basic meltdown."

"Did you read it yet?"

"No, I'm... not sure I'm welcome to. He did say I could, but he was freaking out at the time. I don't know if he really wants me to."

"Are you kidding?" Sasha hissed. "Read it."

"This from Mr. Ethical?"

"Remember me saying I don't believe in privacy? Well, okay, I do but not entirely. Not right now. Personally, I don't need to know if Roy is still a dick, but I do need to know how much of a dick he is, and I need to know if he's up to something that I should nip in the bud. I wouldn't put it past him to hire someone to hunt Casey down."

He had a point.

Still.

On the other hand.

But then –

Fuck it. A little while ago Casey had been raving at him, saying things that made no sense. The one thing that did come across was Casey's desperate desire for quiet and that terrified Zeke. He needed data. He needed a glimpse into that chamber of hell where Roy did whatever he did to Casey, and he sure as fuck wasn't going to get that from Casey himself.

"You're right," Zeke decided aloud.

Sasha offered a sad smile, letting himself out quietly.

Zeke returned to the bedroom. He checked that Casey was still sleeping comfortably, and then unfolded the letter with a bit of a tremble in his hands, fully expecting to be in a murderous state by the time he was done.

Dear Casey.... I write having no idea if this letter will find you. I just learned that you didn't come back to school here this fall, so I don't know where you are. I assume that you are staying with your parents. I hope that you're staying with your parents.  
Things got a little crazy the last time we were together, didn't they? I realize that it was a mistake now. I should never have made you do something that was so wrong for us, but you have to know that I'll do anything to keep you, baby. My mistake was thinking I needed to have Janice, too. I did want her, but for entirely the wrong reasons. I've been so stupid, trying to hang onto this life that I didn't really want when I had you waiting patiently for me to come to my senses. It won't be any surprise to you that I've always been terrified of myself, ashamed of my needs. I thought if I could just play the game by my father's rules, I would win. But being with you wasn't in the game, it wasn't even on the board. You have been the place I go to not follow rules. That doesn't excuse all the times that I denied you and neglected you, but I want you to understand that there were reasons for what I did.

Everything is different now, though. I don't give a damn about following the rules anymore. Janice and I are separated. We made a pretense of trying for a couple of weeks after the hotel. She asked me to change all my phone numbers and give up the apartment in Cincinnati, and I did. She thought if there were no connections left between you and me it would be over. I did everything she asked and I even let myself believe for a little while that I was going to let you go but we both know better, don't we? Janice knew it too, she knew that I'd never really be able to do it. So she left, and I can't say that I blame her. I'm sure that the divorce will be loads of fun. No doubt she will bring in my relationship with you so it appears that all my lying and conniving to keep you a secret will have been useless in the end.

Janice said something to me before she left. She said she had no idea who I was. Could that possibly be a surprise to anyone? No one has ever known who I am except you, and I am ashamed to admit that I have hated who I am for as long as I can remember. That absolutely wasn't your fault. I was just so miserable. Constantly jealous, obsessed with you, hating myself for being obsessed with you, determined to keep you hidden away so no one else could even look at you, terrified of what people would think – especially my father. I think you saw him once, that time at the house. Well, that person was not my father. My father was strong and beautiful and unbelievably charming. I guess he was always a bit of a prick too. He couldn't see an inch past himself. But I loved him and I so wanted him to love me, so I tried to follow his rules, play his game. I don't think he was capable of loving anyone but himself, though, so it was a waste of my time and energy. All the things I did to myself out of grief that he didn't love me... I've been an idiot.

I truly was expecting you to be back yesterday. I was really surprised when I went to the residence and there was no sign of you. I figured I could easily have missed you there, though, so I looked in the calendar for a course that you're supposed to be taking this term and I went to the physics department and found out when it was scheduled. That would make me a stalker, I suppose, except that I couldn't find you. And then it hit me, the way I left you in that hotel room. I didn't say anything to you and you probably thought we were finished. I'm so sorry for that, baby. I was so angry with Janice right then, I wasn't thinking. I should have stayed and taken care of you at least.

So anyway, today I am alone. I'm going to get another apartment in Cincinnati and just stay there for a while, taking photos, trying to find the version of myself that I used to be. I'm hoping to have a show next summer, in fact. I do so wish you could be there and we could be like we were when I first knew you. You have changed too, Casey. It occurred to me just now that I never saw you take a picture or even show interest in photography this entire last year. It makes me sad. Life's really done a number on you, hasn't it, baby? When I think about how you were that night in the hotel, how vulnerable you were, I wish that I had tried harder to help you. The awful truth is that I have known for a long time that you were in trouble but I tried to deny it. It is a terrible responsibility to have a person in your life who needs you so much. I couldn't handle that, like I couldn't handle so many other things.

I have resolved not to keep hiding who I am. What's the point? You don't save yourself any pain by hiding. So if you came back everything would be open. I'd want you with me everywhere I go, whoever I'm with, I'd make no secret of you to anyone, even my fucking Board of Directors. I'd want you to be at my family home, at my side during holidays. I'd never let you out of my sight. I'd give you anything, baby.

I want to believe that this isn't over, that you will get to read this. If you do... I'm quite prepared to beg you to give me another chance but I won't put any pressure on you. I will not show up at your parents' house the way I did this summer. I won't try to phone. It's up to you, and I have faith that you'll be able to read how sincere I am. Maybe you're with someone else now. Maybe that Zeke. I have no doubt that he loves you, but I still say that he doesn't understand you like I do. He keeps you in that place where you're that kid who saw aliens, and that's not who you are anymore. If you were with me I'd take care of you so much better. I'd give you what you need. I know you, baby. I know you better than anyone.

You can write me at this return address, or you could phone me. The new numbers are 555-6474 (h) and 555-9020 (cell).

Please write or call. I'll be waiting. Yours always, Roy.

Putting the letter aside, Zeke's immediate thought was that he needed to smoke. He debated with himself, balancing reluctance to leave Casey alone for any length of time with the fear that if he didn't get his cigarette, he would actually burst open. You heard about things like spontaneous combustion, although not lately and perhaps the accounts were spurious – still, why not spontaneous explosion? It didn't seem entirely out of the question. The lifesaving cigarette would take five minutes, and Casey was pretty well unconscious.

Zeke headed up to the roof.

Late afternoon was just beginning to slip into evening. It occurred to Zeke that twenty-four hours ago, give or take, he had been standing up here in the exact same place doing the exact same thing, filled with an identical rage. The one difference was that none of the rage was currently aimed at Casey and that was the only good thing about it.

The fact of the matter was that he was scared of Casey, scared of what would happen when Casey opened his eyes. There were things in that letter, references to events and assumptions that were vaguely disturbing, with nothing explicit. Zeke had no idea what was real, and not for the first time he wished that he could be clued in to what exactly had gone on in that hotel room. He had been going on the assumption that Casey didn't really remember it, but now he had to wonder. Or had Casey forgotten only to have his memory triggered just now? There were far too many questions and no real expectation that they would get answered.

Zeke could have stood up there smoking all night, but he did need to get back. He went downstairs and dug around for something else to read, resorting to a food history book from Sasha's room. The book turned out to be quite interesting, although he was distracted, his glance bolting in Casey's direction at every noise or twitch. Evening grew into night, and Zeke resolved to wake Casey up very shortly if he didn't on his own. Casey had barely eaten anything today; Zeke was not prepared to let him get away with that.

While he waited, he composed a reply to Roy in his head, letting himself believe for a few minutes that he was actually going to write it down and send it. He had been trying not to think too much about Roy because he would be of no use to Casey if his head flew off. This, though, would fall under the heading of a therapeutic release of heat and pressure.

Dear motherfucker... No, too easy, not vicious enough, and he needed to save that word for effect somewhere else... Dear Sociopath...I want to thank you... If you hadn't written your shit letter, there would be some tiny doubt left in my mind that you are actual scum instead of just an ordinary asshole. Your orgy of self-centred emotional manipulation only serves to confirm what we already knew about you: You deserve to be alone. I'm writing on Casey's behalf to tell you that if you ever approach him, write him, phone him again I will personally make you sorry. I don't know how exactly, but I would be creative about it. Don't expect me to show up on your doorstep and beat the crap out of you, even though that would bring me immense personal satisfaction. I am much more subtle than that.

Casey shifted, making a sound that could a dream or just an irregular breath. Zeke watched and waited until he was sure that Casey was not in any distress, and then went back to his little project.

You should know what you've done. You nearly destroyed something beautiful. I'd like to think that the guilt will keep you awake at night, but I know it probably won't. If you had a shred of conscience you would have just let him be after your last performance. And I'm not about to let you try for a comeback. You think you understand him? You don't know the first thing about him –

That last bit was blatant insecurity. And yeah, maybe he was insecure, but Roy didn't need to know it. Not that Zeke was going to actually write this down and send it. It wouldn't help anything. If Casey wanted to write to the creep, that was another matter. Quite apart from the surge of panicked jealousy that this thought inspired, Zeke would be a lot more comfortable if Roy didn't discover where Casey was living. There were ways to get around that if Casey was determined, but Zeke didn't feel like exploring them.

It was time for Casey to get up and eat. To simplify the exercise, Zeke went to the kitchen and slapped together a sandwich, bringing it back in the company of a glass of milk and an orange. Putting the plate securely on the bed stand for the time being, he sat down and shook Casey gently. There was no response at first.

"Casey... Case."

He shook Casey's shoulder several more times before he got his eyes to open. When they did, it was with a sluggishness that yanked Zeke right back to a month ago in the hospital. He refused to think it was possible that this one event could undo all the progress of the past weeks. Not possible.

"Time to wake up," Zeke said, and winced at the false brightness in his voice.

Casey blinked dully at him.

"I want you to eat something," Zeke pressed.

To his relief, Casey got upright and accepted the plate from Zeke without protest. He must have been aware of Zeke's eyes on him, minutely examining and categorizing how he looked, moved, breathed, yet he didn't appear to care. His movements in eating were workmanlike, absolutely mechanical. He must have been hungry, at least; the sandwich and orange both disappeared quickly.

So much silence. Zeke could almost watch as it grew and swelled around them. It was a heaviness in Zeke's mouth, smothering one word after another.

"So," Zeke said, unwilling to let the quiet go unchallenged. "How do you feel?"

Casey shrugged. "Tired."

"You just slept for four hours." Zeke cleared his throat, forced out his confession: "I read it."

Casey shrugged again. "Whatever."

"You don't care that I read it, or...?"

A head shake.

"So you're not mad at me."

"No."

"Not even a little? I did steal your mail."

Casey lifted his eyes to Zeke. "No."

"Or – are you mad at me for returning your mail?"

"No."

Zeke wanted to get up and start pacing, but restrained himself. "Not to be totally girly... but can we talk about this?"

"There's nothing to say."

"Bullshit." This earned him a little twitch, a flicker of animation. He prompted, "You can start with some of the stuff you were saying just before you went to sleep."

"There's... nothing to say," Casey repeated, almost inaudibly, beginning to tremble.

"It doesn't have to make perfect sense... just try, Case, please, I'll help you --"

"There's – no – "

Zeke had wanted to make a tear in the silence, force some sort of healthy catharsis and he had succeeding in ripping into something to be sure; Casey was now gaping at him, his mouth opening and closing, pleading without a sound for Zeke to release him from the compulsion to talk.

It was Zeke Tyler with his fucking big-time addiction to Making Sense who was hurting Casey now. After strong-arming Casey into reading the letter when he might have just trashed it and pretended it didn't exist – which would have been a perfectly legitimate response – Zeke spun him around again by demanding some kind of coherent discussion about it all. Zeke had always assumed that Casey's silence was a sickness, something to be overcome – and it was, no question, but it also happened to be one of the few forms of defiance still readily available to Casey. He was constantly surrounded and bombarded by words... words from Roy, his parents, Sasha, the doctors, and of course there was that little masochist in his head. And then there was Zeke, too – he was one of the worst offenders. He kept coming at Casey looking for explanations and analysis, trying to give form and structure to things that had no form and no structure, trying to batter down Casey's silence. Everywhere Casey turned there were words, making him to go to terrible extremes to make it all stop because extremes were the only thing that worked for him.

Zeke apologized, "Case... I'm sorry. Not everything needs to be made sense of." He casually took Casey's plate from him, setting it aside along with Roy's letter. "There's other ways to help, I just... need to try them."

That got him somewhere at least. Casey calmed quite a bit, looking at Zeke with such immense and impossible trust that Zeke's chest began to constrict under the weight of it.

"Why don't I... just – ?" he faltered.

He gripped Casey's hand. It was cold, lying in his with the same startled kind of tension that appeared to have seized Casey's entire body. Zeke put it between both of his and massaged the stiffness out of it until it felt like a hand, until it was warm and pliable and capable of grasping something back.

His plan was to do the same with the other hand, but Casey's eyes snared him instead, requiring a lot more than handholding, and right about then Zeke realized he had the perfect opening for his letter to Roy: Dear Miserable, Obsessed Motherfucker... You were done for the moment he laid that look on you, huh? I know just how you feel, you shit. You turn to him with nothing but your fragile little brain to protect you and there are those gigantic things in your face... praying right at you ... take take take it's only what I want to give and how can you be so cruel you ignore this ignore me... and you might just be delusional but the problem with delusions is you don't know anymore if they aren't true and you can't even really care.

Zeke leaned in and Casey stayed as he was, almost completely still against Zeke's mouth, barely moving yet somehow energized too, like he was just waiting for Zeke to stoke that energy in him. Then Zeke was devouring Casey's lips, immersing himself in salt and citrus while his mind filled with images of what he was going to do, where he was going to touch next, what he was going to have.

Minutes passed without either of them pausing for air, until Zeke pulled back with a gasp, thinking that a bit of oxygen might clear his head. It was nice to breathe, but it didn't even come close. The need was a living thing, crackling and snarling with its own intelligence, its own moral demands. There could be no words that would deter it. Something was happening that he couldn't stop, wouldn't stop because it was not wrong anymore. He couldn't think past that message: This is not wrong.

Casey's face was so close to Zeke that he could barely see for blue ... You can, Casey told him without speaking, reprising another time and place yet adding a question borne of well-instilled hesitation: Will you? This was an offer with despair behind it, laden with the fear of being turned away once again.

Zeke whispered his answer. "I'll need you to teach me."

It seemed like Casey was going to disintegrate. His eyes shimmered and gleamed; he nodded and then almost collapsed, sinking in against Zeke's body. For the next little while he just hung on to Zeke and when he moved away, his face was drenched.

Then he started to take off his clothes and Zeke tried to stop him, putting a hand on his thinking that they would undress each other but Casey shook him off, continuing to strip himself, clearly expecting Zeke to do the same – not what Zeke would have liked but he was all about doing this Casey's way. It wasn't that Casey was so entirely disinterested, but he was in a hurry, his breath choppy and short, chest heaving slightly. And now with Casey already naked, Zeke could see that he was half-erect.

That was good for a start and Zeke reached for Casey thinking to help him the rest of the way, but Casey suddenly got up and left the room. Zeke was sure he had blown it somehow although he couldn't figure out how since he hadn't said or done anything. He heard Casey moving around in Sasha's room – and he felt like an idiot when Casey returned with a tube of Astroglide and a condom, standing beside the bed gazing anxiously down at Zeke.

It was like being dashed with cold water; in Zeke's fevered mental world he had not really found it necessary to consider the details. Of course he knew how sex between guys worked. He had read up on it some weeks ago – not that he hadn't already had a pretty good idea from his twenty-two year immersion in American culture – but it was one thing to read about it and another to do it. And the safe sex issue hadn't so much as entered his mind. He knew he was clean, both he and Delilah had been tested when they started seeing each other, and there was never any cause for concern after that; he had always trusted her to that extent. Meanwhile, Casey had been with a lying rat who was probably quite capable of picking up boys and not using any protection. Yet another thing for Casey and his doctor to tackle.

Zeke got to his feet and drew Casey in against him, letting him feel how hard he was, reassuring him that a few technical difficulties were not going to make a dent in his desire. He licked a wet trail up the side of Casey's neck, nipping under his jaw. Unexpectedly, Casey pushed him so that the backs of his knees were against the bed, and looking earnestly up at Zeke, he offered, "I could prepare myself if you want."

Fucking hell, the visuals... Casey writhing on his own fingers making himself ready for Zeke. It was unimaginably hot, but he knew if he took Casey up on that offer he would be sending a message that he didn't want to send. Zeke took the lubricant from Casey and said quietly, "No, I want to do it."

There was a quiet sigh from Casey, not that it was a release of tension by any means. Setting down the lubricant for the moment, Zeke put his arms once more around Casey – and suddenly he was blanking out, nerves emptying his mind of composure. He found himself rocking slightly, just swaying them both back and forth. It could not be fear, not when he was shaking and sweating with arousal, desperate to do something that he had wanted for too damn long now. It could not be about trying to match the waking event to one of his dream memories of being with Casey. This was Casey in his arms now, at this very moment. It would be what it would be.

He worked the muscles in Casey's neck and back, expanding his caresses to his lower body gradually, rediscovering familiar territory. All this, he had explored before, mapping every little bit of that velvet skin. He had staked a claim even in those places that were foreign when he got started, days ago now. He had touched and handled Casey's cock and balls, stroking the insides of his thighs and the spaces between hip and crotch. He had discovered that he loved to cup Casey's ass in two hands, tracing those wonderful curves and lines, making Casey shudder and tremble every time he did.

Now Casey must have decided that he'd had enough petting. Without warning, he grabbed Zeke's hands and pushed him again, making him sit down, and then he straddled Zeke, half-kneeling on the bed and half in Zeke's lap with his legs and buttocks splayed. He put Zeke's hands back where they had been, then moulded his hips to Zeke's and just worked that angle for a while, undulating slowly, their erections damp and sweat- hot alongside each other, while Zeke arrived at the brink of throwing Casey down and fucking him there and then. At about that point Casey shifted to an increasingly urgent rhythm of thrust and grind that left Zeke with barely a shred of sentience, stopping right at the moment when Zeke knew he would erupt with one more stroke.

Putting his head against Zeke's shoulder, Casey whispered, "Touch me however you like... make me ready for you."

The tentativeness that Zeke had been feeling earlier had vanished. His mind remarked on the strangeness of it all but the rest of him couldn't care less as he squeezed lubricant onto his fingers and traced the furrow between Casey's buttocks all the way down to his anal opening. The way Casey stiffened and knocked into his shoulder, nudging him hard with his erection, overturned Zeke's lingering doubts that anyone could actually like having someone's fingers in their ass. He pressed the finger in further, feeling his way inside a narrow, hot channel. Worrisome thoughts skittered across his mind... He couldn't conceive that his cock could ever fit in there. For a while he lost himself in trying to figure it all out but came back to himself when Casey suddenly made a soft whimpering noise and bucked into him, sinking his teeth into Zeke's upper arm. So that little bump, that would be Casey's prostrate. Yeah, it was a bit strange, but Casey's reception to it was so wondrous, so fucking magnificent after all those hours of trying to coax some arousal out of him with the long, elaborate sessions of foreplay. Apparently Zeke had neglected a couple of very simple factors. Such as Casey actually liked this, liked it a lot. And Casey was, after all, a guy. He had the wiring that made it okay to get straight to the main event, a lot of times.

"More?" Zeke asked and stroked that little nub inside Casey's body again. Casey uttered a muffled scream as his body spasmed into Zeke, and he was nodding frantically, his head falling back at the same time. Zeke couldn't resist his exposed, vulnerable throat; he attached himself at a particularly sweet, tender spot, sucking and nibbling and sucking again until completely satisfied that there would be a visible memory there tomorrow. Then putting his hand behind Casey's neck, he pushed gently but insistently, thrilling to the moist sensation of Casey's mouth against his skin. Very shortly, he had Casey impaled on two of his fingers, mewling a stream of little moans and sighs into the join of his arm and shoulder. He was a god. He was ready to prove his omnipotence; he wanted to try everything now, taste and touch every part of Casey, make him move like this for Zeke over and over. Zeke stroked Casey's cock with his free hand, thinking about going down on him and wondering if it might actually be possible to come just from watching Casey's face while he sucked Casey's cock.

Casey tried to pull away from him suddenly, a near impossibility in his current position. "Enough," he gasped. "That's... good enough."

"Sure?" Zeke echoed reluctantly, removing his hand from Casey's bottom.

"Yes... yes, please... Zeke." Casey moved into the middle of the bed, and Zeke followed him. The technicalities had shrunk to the point of irrelevance, bends in the road merely. "How do you... which way...?"

"Any way... however you want."

"I want to watch your face."

Casey nodded, lying down on his back while Zeke knelt between his legs. Zeke ripped open the condom and rolled it onto his cock, then smeared on more lubricant – as gingerly as he could because he was so very close to going off. Casey raised his legs and hooked his arms under his knees, spreading his legs wide. Zeke positioned himself over him, using his own arms to hold Casey in place, folded at the middle. As Zeke placed the crown of his cock at his anus, Casey moved his head, adjusting it like he was just settling in for a lazy Sunday afternoon, looking up at Zeke with something that could only be called peace. Zeke was certain that he had never seen anything so exquisite, it was raw pain in his chest and tight, sweet agony in his groin. He needed to protect and possess it now, there could be no going back, no hesitation.

Zeke began to push into Casey's body. He absolutely hadn't expected that Casey's body would resist him; he froze, afraid to move but Casey shook his head, urging him to continue. Casey reached up, stroking Zeke's jaw, pulling him down where their mouths could be joined, and as Zeke lowered his head he found that he had to be moving forward. Suddenly he was past the muscular barrier, and Casey was crying in his mouth. Then he was going deeper, deeper still until he was completely within Casey and they were fused together. The tightness and pressure surrounding him now, it was like... It wasn't like fucking anything , it was just this. He was afraid that if he moved even once he would come, he was hair-triggered so he stayed just where he was – stayed in the kiss with Casey's erection thrust roughly between them, his chest and stomach slippery against Casey's, his sweat running down his neck – until the world righted itself and he could move.

Finally when he had given up on his fantasy, he was in it. It began with slow, careful strokes, as much from fear for his own sanity as concern for Casey's comfort, but soon it was a pounding that he couldn't stop, his eyes locked with Casey's so there was nothing except being sucked Zeke down into a vortex of blue while agonizing molten pleasure quivered in every nerve ending. Casey's voice surrendered one broken sound after another, his body thrusting up, squeezing around Zeke like it no longer knew how to do anything else, his hands clawing at Zeke's arms and all the while never breaking that gaze with Zeke, telling him more... and more... and more... and Zeke lost himself inside Casey, spilling hot and liquid inside him then collapsing on his stomach, sweat sticking their skin together. And not just sweat – Casey had come at some point and Zeke didn't even know how or when.

Zeke's arms were trembling; he separated his spent penis from Casey's body. All his muscles felt weak and shivery, tremors rolling through them in little waves. "Fuck," he gasped. He closed his eyes. "That was fucking unreal."

He made quick work of ducking into the bathroom to get rid of the condom, hurrying back and getting comfortable on the bed, with Casey lying inside a nest that he made with his body.

"It was okay?" Casey whispered.

"Are you kidding? It was way beyond okay." He was looking at a tangle of slippery flesh that was himself and Casey. "It was..." He broke off to kiss the side of his lover's face, catching damp tendrils of dark hair in his mouth, tasting his way down towards Casey's ear. He was looking at Casey's overripe, passion-saturated mouth, seeing his eyelashes soaked and clumped together with salt moisture, seeing those lashes almost black against skin that glistened with spent heat – and seeing thick, blue-clotted eyes gazing at him like they had no other purpose but to wait for him to choose one more adjective. "Beautiful," Zeke finished.


	12. Chapter 12

"Beautiful."

There Zeke went, using that word again, and Casey agreed even if he was fairly certain that it meant something different to him than it did to Zeke. Beautiful was a place where you were not required to talk, where no one was expecting you to wrest something from a soundless void. Beautiful was a thing that was perfectly simple and so easy when it took you. It was a scorching heat inside you, blanking your brain white with every stroke, holding you up, holding you under. For those moments there was silence, beautiful silence all gushing inside him, drowning him the way he needed it to. It was still quiet as Zeke held him now, the two of them sweaty and cum-sticky, Zeke with eyes closed, smiling like the innocent that he was.

And the waters were ebbing quickly, just like they always did. Casey didn't expect anything different. It was enough to be with Zeke right now — Zeke, not the other whose name he would not think of now that the silence was receding, should not think of because if he thought about that other person he would go mad between one breath and the next. It was pulsing behind his eyes, a nasty, ugly thing, a beast lurking in the background and he didn't know how to stop it from hurting Zeke. Zeke wouldn't be smiling like that when he found out about the monster, that it was in their apartment, in their bed even. He would leave. Of course he had said he wouldn't, yet there wasn't a person on the planet who didn't get more out of Wanting Something than Having What They Wanted so if you were a very fuckable body but there's nothing there it was easy to be left. You could be nothing, you could have nothing and someone certainly could leave nothing. Leave but never quite let you go, they might make a pretense of letting you go but we both know better don't we?

Okayokayokay, it was okay, he was okay...He was here, wasn't he? Here in this room, in Zeke's arms. Maybe he would disappear at any second. Maybe he would die if Zeke took his arms away, but that was minor stuff, really. If he could just concentrate on making Zeke happy, he might just survive.

"Case?" Zeke whispered.

It wasn't in Zeke's nature to be tentative. It was Casey's fault, he had made Zeke doubt himself. He had frightened Zeke not very long ago, screaming at him that way. He couldn't quite remember what he had said. Poor Zeke, all he ever wanted was for things to make sense. He was entitled to that, and Casey would have to give him something. Not an actual explanation of course, because some things couldn't be explained. Some things stayed back there in the damp and the dark and were too — alien — for explanation.

"Casey," Zeke said again.

"Yes," he replied quickly.

"You okay?"

He was thinking too loudly; Zeke would be hearing him, wouldn't he? Casey could make his body relax somewhat, but lowering his heart rate was a bit more challenging. He would have to distract himself — or distract Zeke. He changed the angle of his head and licked Zeke's earlobe, and the inner curve of his ear. "Way better than okay."

"You sure, because..." Zeke's voice trailed away, still uncertain.

"I..." Casey said, feeling himself huddle and shiver, his breath coming faster now. His eyes began to sting. He was fucking up yet again. By the time the sweat dried, Zeke would know that this had been no life-altering, Casey-fixing session of lovemaking because there was no such thing Zeke wasn't helping Casey he was barely making a dent might as well reallocate his energies to something useful.

"Case..." Zeke said softly. His arms about Casey got tighter momentarily, and then loosened so Casey could get his oxygen. "You don't have to tell me things if you don't want to, but if you do...I want you to know you can trust me with whatever."

Casey clambered backwards in his memory, trying to recall exactly what the letter had said. It was just a blurry mess in his head. He had been having difficulty reading when he started and by the end he barely knew English anymore. Most of what he could remember was dank and horrible and made him want to close his eyes and just sink. Certainly there was nothing there that would make sense.

"What — " he whispered. His mouth was dry, so dry. "What if it's — terrible?"

"I doubt there's anything so terrible as you think it is, Case."

"You don't know what's in my head."

"Okay, that's true..."

"If you knew, you'd..." Zeke's body tensed before Casey could finish. Casey knew that he was pathetic, couldn't learn anything no matter how many times he was told...He felt Zeke's cheek press against the top of his head, heard Zeke sigh with exaggerated patience. "...you'd leave."

"We've been through this, Case. I won't leave. At least...as much as that's something I can control."

"What — what do you mean?"

"I mean things happen, you know that. People have accidents or stuff just gets in the way..."

"Pretend they don't. Say you'll never leave even if it isn't possible."

"Okay, Case, how about this...I'll never let you go, okay?"

Casey found that he could breathe a bit more easily.

"Kay," he said.

"I'll never let you go," Zeke repeated.

"Okay." Casey nudged under Zeke's chin, his face almost against Zeke's neck, grounding himself on Zeke's heady, masculine smell.

"So, Case..."

"Un-huh." He was astonished at how much his voice didn't tremble, how it wasn't obvious that he was barely in the room. Apparently a lot of things about him were obvious. Like life had done a number on him. Like —

"Did you want to tell me anything?" Zeke asked.

— like he was some kind of creature who couldn't survive on its own. Well, he was that kind of creature and that was fine, he could accept that as long as he wasn't ripped from his host. Not that it hadn't happened before probably would happen again too — ah, but Zeke had just promised. Just don't think, stop thinking before you foul it up, just know Zeke holding you, remember him pulsing in you...Zeke's face when he was inside you for the first time, that expression of half-abandon, half scientific detachment as his brain catalogued the new input...The guttural strength in Zeke's voice when he said just now I'll never let you go so he would not ever leave Casey alone for days and days on end —

"Casey. Do you want to tell me anything."

— and he would take no for an answer.

"No," Casey breathed.

He was carefully monitoring Zeke's body for physical responses but there was nothing alarming there, only a bit of a pause before Zeke said, a bit too briskly, "Okay. I think I'd like to hit the shower. Care to join me?"

Casey nodded, wondering if he could persuade Zeke to fuck him again before they slept — no, no, he mustn't be too needy, Zeke would expect his words to be sufficient reassurance and Casey believed in them, oh yes, he did believe. He would just believe it a little better if Zeke were inside him, or at least if he knew he was making Zeke feel good like before.

The shower was the right idea, though. Hot spray, hot steam, and Zeke washing him, caressing his body with a lathered, soapy sponge, Sasha's sponge — Sasha an unwilling accomplice in all this, he would be furious. No way he wouldn't notice that his room had been raided. He would think he'd failed to protect Casey from himself again and it would be I don't know if I can forgive you, kitten and How could you let him do that to you, kitten...? You think he's showing you how he feels and you're right, this is how he feels, look at you...It's something but it's sure as hell not love can't you see it and I'm not going to stand by and let it happen do you hear me I'm not —

Suddenly there were hands gripping his chin, holding it, tilting it up to peer into his face. He saw that Zeke was near tears. "What?" Casey gasped.

Zeke's hands scrabbled over him, trying to hug him, hard and graceless, desperate. "I — Casey —"

"'s okay." He brought his own arms up, attempting to knead the rigid muscles in Zeke's back.

"Tell me you're okay, Case, tell me I didn't make it worse."

"I'm okay, Zeke." He was hugging Zeke back, holding him as tightly as he could. If he had ever needed to be persuasive, it was now. He had a responsibility, didn't he, a terrible responsibility to have someone need you that much and not just because Zeke had asked Casey to teach him but because Zeke was innocent and Casey had to not break him. "You didn't hurt me, Zeke," he said softly. "You didn't hurt me."

"I don't know..."

"You made me feel good," Casey persisted. "You made me stop thinking. How could that be bad for me?"

Zeke didn't answer him. He was shivering now.

"You're cold," Casey realized. "I've been hogging the water here..."

He rotated them carefully, which Zeke would prevent if he wanted to but he didn't, he went along, moving under the hot spray. Casey felt his own skin immediately growing clammy but he ignored that. It wasn't about him, it had to be about Zeke. He mustn't destroy Zeke. He would not.

Casey took the sponge from Zeke. "Let me."

He washed Zeke now, first his back, paying devout attention to Zeke's skin, to the perfect lines of muscle, the angle of the shoulder blades, the dip of his spine into his lower back and the swell of his buttocks. Turning him again to wash his front, starting at his feet and working his way up to his crotch. Zeke's cock was slightly erect, filling up when the sponge brushed by on its way to his belly and torso. Casey lifted Zeke's arms, one and then the other, tracing along to his hands that fell open loosely at his touch. He wrapped his own arms around Zeke's chest, holding him as the water rinsed him clean. Zeke had been standing there as though hypnotized but he now revived, lightly touching Casey's face. Casey let his mouth part, tasted the very tips of Zeke's fingers padding rough against his lips. Unexpectedly Zeke grasped both of his arms and pulled him in, enveloping Casey's mouth with his for a split eternity until they separated with a soft, moist expulsion of sound and Zeke panted, "I think my heart's going to explode."

"Exploding sounds good," Casey murmured, studying Zeke's lips. If he could only find the right way to kiss them...He made his choice, stretching to reach that mouth and just breathing from it for a moment. His hands brushed Zeke's sides and hips as he slid to his knees. There was a moment of vague relief when he encountered the rubber mat that Sasha had bought, fearing that Casey would slip during one of his many visits to the shower. Putting his hands on Zeke's thighs, Casey slid them up the smooth, furred skin at Zeke's groin. He leaned in, one hand circling and working Zeke's shaft and Zeke made a choked noise, jerking back out of Casey's grasp.

"Casey —"

"Shh," he whispered, looking up into Zeke's eyes. For a second time in the same day, his own cock was working for him, swelling and hardening with excitement just as it should. "Let me do this for you."

"I wanted to try that...sucking you off, I mean."

"You will," he said. "But I have to teach you first, don't I?"

"You've already —"

Interrupting him, Casey opened his mouth and leaned forward, tonguing, then engulfing the head of Zeke's cock. It swelled in his mouth and he knew he wouldn't be hearing any further complaint. He did hear sounds as Zeke was backed into the corner between front and side walls so most of the hot water was on Casey now, mostly on his back but some raining down his face, spattering his front, drenching his face in wet heat. The taste of Zeke was slightly bitter, just a little soapy, but only for the first few times that he took it in, going a little deeper each time. He heard half-finished gasps from above, and exclamations of nonsense rising in volume. He heard his name.

He stopped to collect himself, his heart loud, his mouth shaping a smile briefly before he plunged back in. With one hand he resumed stroking the shaft and reached with his other hand to gently cradle the ball sac, rolling the balls gently, forcing down his gag when the cock jerked and hit the back of his throat.

Here it became mostly like meditation. He levelled his breathing, calming himself, not letting himself worry about the next breath, accepting the steel-silk riding his tongue and palate. There was pleasure in the control, in knowing that this man was helpless to do anything but finish, that he was suddenly and completely there with Casey. Casey wasn't without purpose, he was capable of giving something, something that Roy loved. Roy didn't want to be anywhere but here right now, didn't he? He wanted only to be here and he was never inconsiderate, never thrust too hard. He would stroke Casey's neck just like that, touch his hair so very gently —

Casey heard a cry, felt the organ in his mouth get taut and still for just an instant before the tension snapped and Roy was coming in his mouth. He concentrated on finishing the act, swallowing and breathing. He didn't particularly enjoy the taste, but he did enjoy knowing that he had performed well. Overachiever, that's what the teachers used to call him.

He sat back on his heels and looked up.

Zeke — ohgodohgod Zeke. Not Roy. Instantly, his cock deflated. His stomach rebelled. It was quite likely that he was going to throw up Roy's cum — Zeke, not Roy, Zeke — and he had betrayed — he had ruined everything —

His hands were lying in his lap. He dug as many fingernails as he could at one time into the tender skin of his inner thigh. It was not nearly painful enough but it was enough to make his head jerk up. He was able to see Zeke's flushed, damp face and smile.

Zeke grasped his arms, pulling him up for a kiss. His hand nudged between Casey's legs and found him limp. "Case," Zeke said, anxious.

"I...I came while I was doing you. Couldn't wait."

Zeke looked disbelieving. Casey trembled, thanking the gods or dumb luck that they were in a shower.

"Really," Casey insisted. His voice was getting shrill. "I was so into it, I wanted to...I wanted to do it for you and I got off, okay?"

"Okay, Case, okay," Zeke soothed. He kissed Casey again, holding his chin in both palms. "You're too intense for me, you know that? I think rationing is the only way if I'm going to survive."

Casey mustered up something that felt like a smile.

"And someone is going to walk through our front door any second," Zeke added. "I really don't feel like explaining things to them just now."

Zeke was tension-free and happy and was now all business about getting out and getting dry and dressed for bed. Casey didn't object or try to distract him. They got under the still mostly-pristine sheets, Zeke spooning up behind as Casey pulled Zeke's arm over his shoulder.

"We have to..." Zeke yawned, "...take your folks to the airport tomorrow morning."

"Un huh."

Casey was busy lacing his fingers in Zeke's, using the hand that was hanging in front of his eyes. He pressed it against his cheek, held it there.

"Wow, I'm wrung out," Zeke said. "This sleep is going to be good."

"So I'm like..." Casey almost got frozen in mid-sentence, nearly gagged at hearing himself speak. Lips, tongue and throat were numb. "...like the human drug?"

"I can only guess, but I'd have to say you're better than Xanax."

A massive shudder clawed at Casey. He pushed back into Zeke's warmth, clung to his hand, whispered, "I'll...knock you off your feet...anytime..."

"Cold?" Zeke asked, the concern in his voice momentarily shoving sleep aside.

"Warming up now."

"Good. Case?"

"Mmm."

"What about you? Won't you have trouble sleeping after that huge nap?"

"I can sleep," he answered, glad that he was facing away from Zeke, and Zeke wouldn't be able to see how wide-eyed frantic he was right now.

Zeke tugged him closer, settling into mattress and pillow at the same time. "Well...g'night."

"Good night..." he murmured.

For the first time ever Zeke was asleep first. Casey was alone for hours and hours and when he fell unconscious it was from stark, unqualified exhaustion.

 

The sounds of activity and hushed conversation beyond the bedroom gradually pulled Zeke from a satisfying slumber, with Casey a pliant, delightful warmth all along his body. At some point during their sleep Casey had turned to face him, and one leg had found its way in between his. His grip on Zeke had never been quite as tenacious, and never so completely devoid of sexual energy. Zeke had morning wood like normal but there was nothing of the kind from Casey — also like usual. Inconceivable that this chaste package of arms and legs was also the otherworldly being that Zeke had experienced last night.

Before falling asleep he had tried to finish his missive to the creep from Cincinnati and hadn't gotten very far. Something about You pathetic loser, how could you have had this and not felt good, I mean really...I wanna know before he was down for the count. He slept fabulously and woke up with his creative energy popping and fizzing. Obsession had never felt so good.

Well, good and scary. He truly didn't think it had been a mistake, but there were those panicky moments last night when he started to fear otherwise. Of course, Casey had been determined to act like nothing was wrong, and he was pretty damned convincing about it too. In the end, Zeke decided that fear was a good thing. It was good to be reminded that there was danger, good to know that his analytical self was still vigilant. He was perfectly aware as he fell asleep that there was still the matter of the letter and its aftermath, which Casey had just very effectively gotten postponed. Zeke didn't believe Casey for a second when he tried to convince him that they had just made everything better, and he would not expect any miraculous change this morning. It was just sex after all.

Just sex. Sure it was just sex — and Casey was just a boy and he was just another boy and they both had parts that could be manipulated for fun. And nuclear reactions in a star were just atoms rubbing together.

Fuck if he wasn't in a good mood for the first time in his life.

All he was lacking right now was Casey looking at him, so propping himself up on an elbow, he gently rubbed the delicate skin beneath Casey's brow, around his lashes. Casey's hands loosened and fell away from Zeke and he drifted back, waking almost immediately yet with visible reluctance. "What?" he croaked, blinking up at Zeke with bruised eyes.

"Your folks are awake and it's getting late," Zeke said quietly. And damped down a treacherous little burst of disappointment that everything wasn't wonderful. His stupid heart was playing tricks on him after all, but his brain knew best as always. Heart should really listen to brain. "Thought you might like to get up and visit with them for a bit before they have to go."

Without a word, Casey moved upright, swinging his feet in the direction of the floor.

"Um..." Zeke said.

Casey twisted to look at him, still not saying anything but his face screamed recently fucked! The purply-pink mark on his neck glared at the world, making Zeke question his own intelligence at having put it there. He summoned up Frank and Allison and Sasha, he saw them seeing it and reacting to it, and before Zeke knew what he was saying he had asked, "Is there any way to cover this up?"

"I'll try," Casey said, shifting his weight. He looked beaten.

Abruptly realizing how he had sounded and how Casey might have interpreted it, Zeke grasped Casey's arm to stop him from going anywhere. Casey stilled, watching him, and Zeke said, "I meant this." His other hand sketched a wave over the mark on Casey's neck, briefly.

"Oh..." Casey's lashes swept down, hiding his expression from Zeke. He was trembling now.

It was time for a declaration.

"I don't want to hide anything, Case. I'm sorry if I made you think it. It is absolutely not going to be like that."

"Okay."

"I only thought...It would be easier if we could get your folks on their way home without any major scenes."

"Okay, but...if you wanted...wanted to make it a secret..."

Zeke could have howled. Instead, he spoke in a calm, reasoning voice. "What makes you think I would want that?"

Casey blinked several times. "I don't know," he said forlornly.

"Let me make something clear here. I'm not sorry for what we did. Not for a second, and I'll tell anyone that. Hell, I'll go get a t-shirt made up that says 'I'm With My Gay Lover,' you know the ones with the arrow? You just have to stand on my right side all the time."

This brought a smile to Casey's face at last, and Zeke smiled back in relief. "I'll need something to match," Casey said. Plying a hand against Zeke's jaw, he suggested, "'Zeke Tyler for Man of the Year.'"

Zeke's cheek was flaming hot when Casey took his hand away and moved in the direction of the bathroom. He wasn't prepared to let Casey out of his sight just yet, so he followed him in, shutting the door softly behind them. "Case," he said, standing behind and observing as Casey took up toothbrush and toothpaste. "There is one thing...your parents don't know what was in your mail."

Casey's eyes flicked to his in the mirror, his brush raised halfway to his mouth.

"Your mom didn't know what she had when she brought it and no one told her."

As Zeke was speaking, Casey lowered his hand, resting it on the sink, still holding the toothbrush while the other hand gripped the edge of the counter. He lowered his head too. "Oh," was all he said.

"I thought I should warn you before you talk to them...just in case..."

Casey lifted his chin and said, "Okay."

Zeke saw a struggle going on in the mirror, but he couldn't quite guess what it was about. "Okay...what?"

"I...don't want her to know...don't want them to know..."

"That's what I thought."

"Yesterday...In the museum, what did you tell them?"

"Just that you and I needed to talk and I was taking you home."

"Thank you." Casey had closed his eyes.

"Hey, I didn't want to have to explain things to them either. They were very worried about you, of course, but they — well, more your mom — accepted that we needed to have our privacy — "

A yell ricocheted down the hall to the bathroom. "Enough with the sleep, you two! Get up already!"

"— a concept that Sasha doesn't quite understand," Zeke finished dryly.

Casey resumed his tooth-brushing activity while Zeke remained where he was, staring at him in the mirror. Brush, rinse, spit, rinse. Then Casey took out his bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet and swallowed one with water that he drank from a cupped hand, bumping Zeke's groin when he bent over. Straightening, he didn't move from his place, just gazed into the mirror intently, searing Zeke's face with his eyes.

Zeke put his hands on Casey's shoulders and Casey fell back against his chest. "Zeke?" he said.

"Mmm-hmm," Zeke responded, tilting and twisting his head so he could nibble on Casey's neck.

"Are we going to do it again?"

There was a kind of plea there that any person with a shred of dignity should never want another person to hear. As much as Zeke wanted to, he couldn't continue what he was doing to Casey's neck; at that moment, it felt too much like exploitation. He let his lips close and lightly bussed Casey's cheek. "Hell, yeah," he said.

"Soon?"

He rested his chin on top of Casey's head. "Yes, Case. I think that's safe to say."

"Good."

Casey's eyes were closed and he was trembling again. Zeke let his hands trail over his shoulders so he was embracing him fully, draped over him like a safety harness. "Never let you go," he chanted, swaying them side to side a little. "That's what I said."

"Yes." Casey's hands clutched Zeke's, squeezing them, pushing them in against his chest. "Say it again."

"I'll never let you go....Now we'll just go out there and do our thing with the parents, take them to the airport. Nothing to it."

"Nothing to it," Casey echoed, not sounding entirely convinced.

"And we won't think about all that other shit we have to deal with...We won't worry about it right now."

Casey nodded, his hair brushing under Zeke's chin just enough to tickle. Zeke ran his fingers over the hickey on his neck. In the bathroom light, it looked almost garish.

"How about you put on something to hide this, like we talked about?"

"'Kay."

Casey went to their room momentarily. When he rejoined Zeke in the hallway he was wearing his sweater, the one with the zip-up collar that covered his neck. It wasn't so improbable; Casey was often cold, and had appeared for breakfast wearing that sweater more than once before. Even so, Zeke found himself praying when they presented themselves in the kitchen. I will chill. I am a cool customer. I'm icy. Yeah my lover is a little shaky today so we'll deal with it amen.

"Good morning," he said, willing himself to sound normal. Then he did one of those things that only happened in moments of anxiety, silly things that you wished you could take back even as you did them: He squeezed Casey's hand and gave him a sideways nod, blatantly urging him to follow his lead. "Good morning," Casey mouthed obligingly.

The Connors were sitting at the dining table still in pajamas and nightgown, while Sasha unpacked the coffee maker that they had bought the day before yesterday. At Casey's voice, Sasha looked up, his hands going still. His gaze fell upon Zeke first, then moved immediately to Casey. It stopped there. It assessed Casey for two seconds before his gaze snapped back to Zeke.

Busted.

"Um — how was dinner last night?" Zeke forged on past the tightness in his chest.

"It was..." Allison said distractedly, also looking at her son. The last time she and Frank had seen Casey, he had been a shade or two past hysterical; naturally, they were going to want an update. "It was fine."

"Just fine?"

"Charly was lovely but Stokely and Stan were — well, they didn't seem to be speaking to each other...Casey? How are you, hon?"

All eyes turned to Casey, who was fixated on something....Oh, fucking hell, he was gazing obliviously down at his hand tucked inside Zeke's, or maybe it was the floor but either way it didn't look good. Zeke was trying to decide on a course of action when Frank barked, "Casey."

That got it done. Casey started a little, his eyes moving to his parents. "Dad," Casey acknowledged.

"Are you feeling better this morning?" asked his father in a gentler tone.

Apparently, Casey was in some other dimension and the sensory feed from here and now was delayed by several seconds. When the question did reach him, Casey suddenly knocked parents and friends sideways with the widest, most sanguine smile Zeke had ever seen on his face. "I'm much better today," Casey said brightly.

Something crashed in the kitchen. It looked like Sasha had been putting away the dishes that had been sitting in the drying rack for two days, but now he was brandishing a frying pan like he would rather apply it to Zeke's head. When everyone looked at him he said, "Maybe I should use this." He gestured with the pan, his eyes travelling meaningfully to Zeke for a moment.

"No, Sasha, thanks," Allison said quickly. "You've already cooked for us so many times, I'm sure we can fend for ourselves this morning. Besides, I'm still stuffed from last night. Feels like we've been eating since we got here."

"And that's a bad thing? Okay, we have cereal and there's some bread for toast if you like. I'll just make the coffee...I think there's some juice in the fridge. Kitten, would you like some toast?"

Zeke didn't see if Casey opened his mouth to reply but in any case Sasha didn't let him, continuing his monologue.

"I know, toast with peanut butter. You like peanut butter, don't you? Okay, coming right up. We'll have to get some good, natural peanut butter from downstairs one of these days instead of this processed shit..."

Allison got up and joined Sasha in the kitchen, while Casey let go of Zeke's hand and sat down at the table with his father. For lack of anything better to do, Zeke sat there too.

The next several minutes were some of the most painful of his life. Casey seemed interested only in whatever was going on in his internal space. Frank kept dragging him back for visits to reality. First it was the new computer, then it was the issue of returning to school, and then it was his doctor's appointment on Wednesday. Each time it happened the same way: Casey would get a verbal jab, would struggle to right himself and manage to hold his own in a conversation with his father just until the topic had been done justice, and then return to that other place where most of his energies were engaged. Two slices of toast and a cup of ginger tea got cold in front of him.

It was a little more bearable when Allison and Sasha came to the table; they were a lot more skilled at holding back the silence. From Allison's chatter, Zeke divined that the dinner with Charly had been more or less innocuous. It sounded like Charly had regaled them about her job, her take on various current events and some of her favourite locales in Seattle. Apparently Casey and Zeke had not even been mentioned last night. Zeke would have liked to interrogate the Connors thoroughly, but there was more than enough tension at the table already.

At length, Frank announced that they would need to get going to the airport soon. It was still three hours until their flight boarded and Zeke suddenly understood that Casey had inherited the worrywart part of his personality from his father, not his mother as Zeke had always assumed. Allison rolled her eyes but didn't argue. The parents retired to Sasha's soon-to-be-returned bedroom to get dressed and organized.

This was Sasha's opportunity to look pointedly at Casey's toast and comment, "I wish that you'd take a bite out of that, kitten."

Casey didn't give any indication that he heard him.

Sasha turned to Zeke and said, with a punitive glare, "We need a family conference."

"I may or may not be available," Zeke replied cooly. "Depends on the topic."

"And which topics should I avoid?"

Zeke didn't answer that, jerking his head in the direction of the hallway.

Sasha retreated for the moment, at the very least agreeing with Zeke that Casey's parents were best left out of this. Leaning back in his chair, Sasha folded his arms and asked Casey, "Are you feeling okay, kitten? Did you sleep all right?"

In response, he received a ghost of a nod.

Sasha opened his mouth, no doubt to keep poking and prodding, and Zeke interposed, "I slept very well, thank you."

"I didn't ask you."

"Gonna get dressed," Casey muttered, standing up. He didn't exactly bolt from the table, but there was no question that he wanted to get away from it in a hurry.

"Something tells me that you need a cancer stick," Sasha suggested to Zeke, who easily comprehended that he had no choice about it. He was to have this cigarette even if it was the one that spawned the first malignant cell.

Not that he wouldn't relish a smoke right now. There was no use putting off this conversation so he headed up to the roof with Sasha right on his heels. They found that it was a gorgeous day, not merely sunny but unseasonably perfect. A longing rose in Zeke, to just be enjoying the weekend and the weather. He should be buying a barbecue for their roof, with nothing more demanding to consider than choosing the right model. He had to settle for lighting up and savouring the first, deep drag. "Nice day," he commented, exhaling smoke.

"Is there something you want to tell me?" Sasha blurted.

Zeke indulged himself in an insolent silence for a bit, but he couldn't sustain it. When you were ten, it was called a staring contest. When you were twenty-two it was a pissing contest, and it felt every bit as stupid and immature as it actually was when you were ten. "All right," he sighed. "Obviously you think you know something. So let's not dance around it."

"Did something happen between you and Casey last night?"

"No." Zeke flicked ashes from his cigarette. "Something happened between me and Casey years ago. Last night was follow-through."

Zeke got a glimpse of bulging eyes before Sasha turned away, facing the building behind theirs. "Shit...just — shit, Zeke!"

"I know what you're thinking — but it wasn't a mistake."

Sasha didn't speak yet. He seemed unwilling to look at Zeke. His shoulders were trembling visibly.

"It wasn't a mistake," Zeke repeated.

Now Sasha spun around to face him. "Oh, really? Then why are we so defensive this morning?"

"Because I knew you'd be angry, which you are."

"This is not me being angry," Sasha contradicted, running both hands through his hair, making it stand up in a way that would have been comical under any other circumstance.

"It sure looks like angry to me."

"No, this is disapproving and disappointed."

Zeke was trembling himself now. "What about that part where you were trusting me? I thought I was to exercise my own judgment."

"This isn't about trust — "

Zeke almost laughed out loud. People were just so fucking typical sometimes. They trusted you when they wanted you to take a problem off their hands but when you solved it in a way that they didn't approve of, suddenly it wasn't about trust.

"It's the timing I'm concerned about," Sasha finished. "I look at Casey today and I don't like what I see."

"He's — if he's a mess it's because of that piece-of-shit letter! I read it, Sasha. It was one long mindfuck."

"So, then..." Sasha said deliberately and slowly, like he was just musing aloud. "He finds out that Roy wrote him, freaks out in the museum, you take him home and — then what? He reads it and then, right then, when he's as vulnerable as he can be that's when you decide it's time to 'follow through.'"

"Fuck you." Zeke dropped his butt and ground it under his foot with excessive vigour. "You weren't there. You didn't see how — how he — and you know what? This is not a threesome. There are things that just make sense to me and Casey, that you — "

"Don't you dare say that I wouldn't understand. Especially when it looks like I'm the only person thinking with my actual brain right now."

"News flash: I haven't been thinking clearly for a while now, so I figured it was time I gave up on that and tried something else. For just one bloody second in my life stop thinking and go with instinct. You know, like the gospel according to Sasha? Just say what I want and feel what I want and let my feelings hang out all over the place?"

Things had escalated and that wasn't part of his plan. Okay, he didn't have a plan but he had expected at a bare minimum to stay cool. As in, icy — but now he was quite emotional and ready to expand upon his previous comments and tell Sasha exactly how fucked up it was for one friend to keep tabs on another friend's dick.

Sasha wasn't trying to talk or retort now. He was just looking at Zeke. It seemed like he was struggling not to smile.

"What's so funny?" Zeke demanded.

"Nothing," said Sasha wistfully. "Just remind me never to get into a serious debate with you."

"What do you call this?"

"A discussion."

"All right, then I don't want to have this discussion anymore. It's a done deal, we can't go back. I don't want to go back, and I won't. You'll just have to keep on trusting me."

"Fine. Just know that I'm going to be watching you too."

"Now there's a revelation."

"I really do trust you, Zeke — but I swear, if this hurts him, if you hurt him more than he's already hurt, I will separate you two."

"You can try."

Sasha just smiled. "Still friends?"

Zeke shrugged. "If you want," he said.

Sasha's hand suddenly came at Zeke's face. He flinched involuntarily, but it turned out that he was to receive nothing more forceful than a congenial a slap on the shoulder. "I want....and by the way, Zeke, ciggie butts go in the ashtray, not on the ground."

"Fine." In this if nothing else Zeke would oblige him; he bent down and deposited the thing in the nearby ashtray. "Happy now?"

"No, I can't say that I'm happy." Sasha gazed sadly past Zeke, considering the open air beyond his shoulder. "I just have to ask...In the midst of the...follow-through...did Casey have anything to say about Roy or the letter?"

"No."

"You didn't ask?"

"I did ask. He didn't want to talk about it."

"You think Roy is trying to mess with Casey's head...and it wasn't worth prying a little?"

"Not really, no."

Sasha was once again riveted on Zeke. "Why not?" he demanded.

"It wasn't the time," Zeke snapped. "I don't enjoy forcing answers out of Casey any more than I enjoy pulling the wings off flies."

Sasha raised both hands. "Okay. I'll grant you he certainly has a way of making an ordinary conversation into an ordeal. But maybe you should — "

"I'm done with my smoke now. I'm going back down."

Rolling his eyes, Sasha said, "Well, I guess I can't stop you. But before you go...do you mind if I go to the airport instead of you? I thought it would be nice to see Allison off."

"Sure," Zeke replied easily. "It makes sense...I mean, they just tolerate me but they love you."

"Oh, right," Sasha snorted. "Frank 'loves' me."

"I can see it in his eyes — the love that dare not speak its name."

Sasha hit Zeke on the shoulder, with a closed fist this time.

"That almost felt like a bug stinging me."

"Like I couldn't kick your ass."

Zeke raised his eyebrows. "Exactly like you couldn't kick my ass."

"The truth is I wouldn't want to, even when you deserve it. It's such a fine ass..." Sasha's voice trailed away. He looked out, away from Zeke once more. "It's not your ass that I want to kick anyway."

"I hear you."

"That doesn't mean I won't change my mind."

"Leaving now," Zeke warned, turning away and reaching for the door handle that would take him back downstairs.

Behind him he heard Sasha mutter, "Now I know you and Casey were meant for each other."

 

It came to Casey suddenly as he sagged on his bed, unable to cope with the multiple styles and colours of shirts and pants and socks: It wasn't just Zeke who needed to be protected from him. It was everyone. Every single person he loved had been damaged by association with him, and he was supposed to be trying to get better so he could stop doing damage but trying was no good. Zeke had the power to drive away that monster that was thrumming away inside him, but it was only temporary. The monster always came back. It had Casey in its jaws now, and wasn't he a tasty, helpless little morsel? Delightful to toy with and slaver over, and it had very little to fear from him. As familiar as it was, he didn't even have a name for it. It wasn't Roy, it wasn't any of them — not Mom and Dad, or Gabe, or Marybeth even. It just looked like them sometimes.

Sasha had come in and sat next to him; if he knocked Casey didn't hear it. He reached for Casey's hand and did nothing but hold it for some time, until Casey could muster his voice. "You can read it if you want," he said.

"I am curious," Sasha admitted. Indicating the letter, which was still lying on the bed stand where they had left it last night, he observed, "I suppose it boils down to all sorts of apologies and twisty little bits."

No, the monster was not Roy and Roy was not the monster. It merely danced to Roy's tune, a tune fully inscribed in blue ink on two sheets of paper, and the tune went like It's up to you, baby, but just think about it. You don't really love Zeke and he doesn't love you. How could he, he can't love what he doesn't know and there's nothing to know, is there, baby? The best you can hope for is understanding and you won't get that from him...He wants more than you are, but I don't, I'll take you as is final sale you need me because I'm the only one who realizes what you are that you're just nothing...and you do feel like nothing, don't you? Sure you do...see how I know you?

Sasha was sounding as bitter as he ever could. "He wants you back, right? He told you he's the only one for you — and you can be damned sure that Zeke had to take care of business after he read that."

"Please don't — don't be mad at him, Sasha."

"That depends on who 'he' is, kitten."

"Z-Zeke, I mean Zeke." Thinking about Zeke inside him and all around him just stopping everything, he was almost able to bring the tremors to a standstill. "It was so good. He was the only thing I...I felt. Just him."

Sasha put a steadying arm around his shoulders. "It's not like I want to be mad at him, kitten."

"He didn't hurt me. It was my idea."

"I'm sure it was."

Because we all know who the slut is here. A slut being someone who gets fucked by Roy according to Roy's schedule when the slut has a perfectly good boyfriend hanging around being kind and generous and gentle. He gets on his knees, he goes down and he opens his mouth and he swallows.

Sasha was still talking. "...how you feel about Zeke but I think I have to put this on hold until later. I just wanted to make sure you were okay for now. Are you sure you don't mind me reading your letter?"

Casey gave a shrug. "No."

It wasn't as though he could stop it. There was no way that Zeke wouldn't expect to know what the letter said, and since Zeke had read it, one way or another Sasha would inevitably find out what was in it too. The moment that Roy licked the glue on the envelope, Casey's fate had been sealed. How long would it be until Zeke understood what Roy already understood, how long until he saw that he had an armful of nothing? Casey could only try to hide from him, except Zeke was far too smart. Not only smart, but experienced in extricating himself from sickly people who hung on him and tried to infect him with their disease.

"Thanks, kitten. I'm sure we'll get a chance to chat more after you get back — but for right now, let's just think about getting your folks to the airport. You and I will take them, okay? Zeke will stay here — "

"Why?"

Sasha reared back to look at Casey. "Say again?"

"Can't – Zeke come to the airport?"

Sasha was sighing. "It's okay, kitten, he agreed, he's not going anywhere and we won't be long."

"I want Zeke to go."

"Kitten...I would like to see them off, you know? I suppose...we could squeeze together in the back."

Casey bit down on his lip. He was not supposed to mind about this. He was okay. That was what Zeke believed and that was why Sasha was here right now, was it not? To assess his okay-ness.

"All right," Sasha conceded. "Zeke can go. I'll stay here."

"Th - thank you," Casey stammered gratefully. "I..."

"It's no big deal."

It didn't entirely sound like no big deal, though.

Casey hesitated, asked, "Where is he?"

"Who, Zeke? He's in the bathroom, shaving. And you're supposed to be getting dressed." Sasha turned to the still mostly full shopping bags and began digging. "You didn't even put this stuff away? Here, wear these. Sheesh, looking after you two is like a full-time job. I should put it on my resume...caretaker of small, medium and large boys..."

Casey dressed in the clothes that Sasha presented to him, blue jeans and deep blue shirt over a white tee, then covered it all with the fleece sweater. Meanwhile, Sasha had put away all of the goods from the shopping trip, muttering irately to himself. He raised an eyebrow upon seeing Casey with his sweater zipped all the way up and said, "Why are you wearing that? It's boiling out there."

With a shrug, Casey said, "I'm cold." Not that he couldn't have shown the hickey to Sasha, but he didn't feeling like handling his reaction right now. And he certainly didn't want to have to handle his parents' reactions.

Sasha just shook his head and said, "That blue looks so good on you, kitten....but I wouldn't want to see you shivering either."

Now there was another airport adventure to contend with, and Casey turned to his supply of Xanax. Staying in the car while Zeke escorted his parents to their gate was out of the question. On the other hand, his mom and dad would not be happy to find that Casey had to get drugged up again just to see them off. He compromised and took half, wrapping the other half in a tissue and pocketing it. He couldn't imagine how he had functioned without the Xanax before, and before was only four days ago.

In the car he had to sit in the back seat as usual, and distracted himself by watching Zeke's hands on the steering wheel, nursing a hopeful image of what they might be doing to him later. It was quiet most of the way; Zeke put on the radio to cut the silence but it was still uncomfortable. At least when they got to the airport, the Xanax was doing its thing and Casey felt much calmer, enough that he could walk with Zeke and his parents to the departure gate with the reality of the other human beings in his vicinity pressed into some back corner in his head.

"So we'll see you at Christmas, right?" his mother asked him.

He hadn't been home for Christmas for two years in a row, save for the few days last year, before he fled the family home on the wake of his coming-out announcement. Everything that came after that, he wouldn't think about. He would pretend it never really happened. That would be everything from December 23rd to this moment. Eight months and...one, two...almost three weeks.

Zeke answered when he didn't. "He'll be there."

Casey's mother put a hand on Zeke's forearm. "Remember, you're very welcome, Zeke, any time, and make sure that Sasha knows he's welcome too."

"Thanks. Um...Have a good trip," Zeke said. He had said his good-byes, expressed his well-wishing; now he stepped back, giving Casey some time with his parents. "Thank you," seemed most appropriate to start with. He didn't quite know what else he was to say, but it was always good to start with that. "For everything."

"You're welcome, honey," said his mom.

His dad had his wallet out. Handing a twenty to Casey, he said, "This is just to tide you over for a day or two. I'll make a deposit in your account tomorrow so you have something to live on. Don't lose those rent checks."

"No, Dad."

"Remember to call that computer outfit."

"Yes, Dad."

"When you get boots, make sure they're waterproof," his mom advised. "It gets pretty wet here."

"Okay."

"And if there's anything else you need, you call us."

"Okay."

"If there's an — an emergency — Charly said she would do whatever she could to help."

So now, finally, it came out, just at the last second before they snuck off to Herrington: His parents and Charly had not talked only about the weather and Seattle tourist attractions. Casey decided not to feel his feelings about that, or even consider what the content of that conversation had been. It was so totally Frank and Allison Connor, and they were leaving anyway. "Okay," he said only, not looking in Zeke's direction.

His mom was on the ragged edge of tears. "Call us — every week —" she faltered.

"I will," he promised quickly. His synthetic peace was getting wrinkled. There was a throb over one eye. "I can email too, once I get set up."

"That's fine," his dad said gruffly. He cleared his throat, put his hand on Casey's shoulder. "Casey. We want you to know — we're proud of you."

He had some difficulty believing his ears. "You are?"

"Yes," his dad said, and glanced at his mother, who affirmed it without hesitation.

Casey tried that out a number of different ways in his head: We're proud of you...We'reproudofyou...Weere perowd ovu. He knew only a vague dismay that he felt nothing when he was supposed to feel happy that they did see who he was and still liked him.

"Thank you," he said again.

His dad hugged him and didn't seem to want to let go. Casey hugged back, thinking desperately about the moment when they finally would walk through the security gate and go home. Not that he didn't love them. It was just — they should leave now when everything was on a good note. Before they could do anything to each other.

"See you at Christmas," his mom said, her tone constricted. His dad put his arm around her and steered her away, weaving a path through the other travellers.

It was when Casey was looking at the back of their heads that the tears boiled up. Zeke reached for his hand to offer support and he crumbled, requiring Zeke to hold him while he whimpered in front of the world community. He had to stop, he was going to wreck all of Zeke's happy thoughts. That was all Casey wanted from today, but here it was not even noon and he'd already had to pull himself together at least ten times.

He pulled out of Zeke's embrace, trying to smooth his face, regulating his breathing. He must seek a Zen state, he must transcend thought. Thinking was the Enemy. Not Thinking was the path to Enlightenment. "Sorry," Casey said, finding a level of awareness that was, if not actually tranquil, a lot quieter.

"Don't be ridiculous," Zeke replied with a look of understanding, reaching out to wipe a tear off his face. "They're your parents. Not my thing, of course, but I hear that a lot of people have them and like them."

"Yeah."

"That was an interesting bit about Charly."

Remembering the tissue he was carrying, Casey pulled it out and put it to its proper use. "I'm...not really surprised," he said. He tucked the half-pill into his shirt pocket.

"I just hope she doesn't think she's supposed to make a weekly inspection or something."

Casey shrugged. He didn't have it in him to join Zeke in trashing Charly today.

Clearing his throat, Zeke suddenly claimed, "I know just the thing to make you feel better."

"What?"

"I saw a Starbuck's around here somewhere. How about a decaf latte?"

"I'm not supposed to have decaf."

"Oh, come on, Case, I know it still has some caffeine in it, but it couldn't be all that much. Consider it a treat. I won't tell Sasha if you don't tell Sasha."

They found the Starbucks and Casey bought himself a decaf hazelnut-vanilla latte and a double mocha for Zeke, which made a solid dent in the twenty dollars his dad had given him. The latte tasted flat, like even Casey's tastebuds were dysfunctional.

Neither of them had much to say as they walked back to the car. "Hold my coffee for me?" Zeke said, giving his mocha into Casey's care so he could start the car. He remarked as he backed out of the parking space, "The next time I buy a car it's going to have cup holders."

Casey couldn't think of a response so for several miles down the highway they sat in a not-quite-comfortable silence and drank their coffees.

Suddenly, Zeke wanted to know, "What did Sasha say to you?"

"He just wanted to see if I was okay...ask about the letter. Said we'd talk later."

"Did he, now?" Zeke groused.

Casey was well aware that Zeke and Sasha had already had a conversation of their own, one that he didn't want to hear about. Exhaustion burned his eyes. Disquiet was simmering away, no doubt spiced up by the caffeine he had consumed. His stomach, empty save for steamed milk and coffee, churned with unease at the prospect of another one of Sasha's talks.

"....Case, I have an idea. Let's play hooky."

"H-hooky...?"

"I mean, let's not go right home."

Zeke was almost childlike in his eagerness, which had to be unusual for him. "What do you want to do?" Casey asked, telling himself that he was pleased to please Zeke.

"It's such a gorgeous day. We could just drive around, or...there's about three thousand parks within spitting distance here. We could have that hike now, you know the one that got cancelled by my mother?"

It sounded like Zeke wanted to take him on a date.

"Come on, Case, don't you ever feel just a little...claustrophobic?"

"I guess," Casey lied. He liked the security of four familiar walls with familiar people inside them. Still, maybe he could do this. He should want to do this, for all the reasons that Zeke wanted to.

"Isn't there anything you'd like to do? It doesn't have to be a hike – although it would probably make Dr. Chakri happy."

Casey thought of one thing he wouldn't mind. He shouldn't ask, though. He had never gotten good results with this kind of thing before.

"Case?"

"I...kinda..."

"Tell me," Zeke urged.

"Haven't gone to a movie for a long time."

"Sure, we could do that if you want."

"You don't mind?"

"No, Case," Zeke said, sounding amused. "I don't mind."

"But – don't you want to do something outside?"

"I don't care as long as we do something together. I actually think I saw one of those big monster theatres just off the exits when we were driving out here. We could check it out."

"As long as you don't mind."

"I don't mind," Zeke insisted, in a tone that said he didn't want to have to say it again. "Now, I assume you actually want to watch the movie and not sit in the back row doing what people do in the back row."

"Well — "

"Hey, that's okay. I know how you are about movies."

"I don't have to — "

"It's fine, Casey. I'd rather watch the movie too. I mean, we can neck somewhere else for free."

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in the parking lot of the Loews Movie City, reading the offerings listed on the marquee. The theatre was a box-shaped structure, almost stadium-sized, and painted in purple, pink and black stripes. A slight, almost sullen excitement was brewing in Casey's stomach as he thought about being in one of his favourite places again.

"Jeepers Creepers," Zeke read.

"Ugh."

"I thought you liked horror movies."

"Well...when they're realistic, yeah."

"I can't begin to imagine what that means. Jurassic Park III?"

"That's a possibility."

"Or how about Planet of the Apes?"

"Oh, yeah, let's see that one...it's Tim Burton, you know."

"Gotta love Tim Burton."

Something in Zeke's tone made Casey ask, "You do know who he is?"

"Yes, he's...a very famous actor."

Casey was unable to resist a giggle. "He's a director."

"Oh."

"You're yanking my chain now."

"No, I'm not, I really am that ignorant."

"Okay...I believe you."

"So shall we go in and find out when it's playing?"

Casey felt marginally better than he had half an hour ago — until they got inside and he remembered that it was Sunday afternoon. The place was overrun with teenagers and children, some supervised by parents, some not. This place was movie theatre, arcade and food court all rolled into one; the babble of video games and music and people was impressive.

"It's okay," Zeke said softly in his ear. "The movie starts in twenty minutes, we'll just get our tickets and go right in."

Planet of the Apes didn't appear to be a great box office success, at least not today. Casey couldn't quite feel sorry about it, since it meant that the theatre was nowhere near full and he and Zeke could find seats off on the side where there was no one in front, behind or beside them.

"You want popcorn or anything?" Zeke asked him.

Casey shook his head. He enjoyed the smell of popcorn as part of the whole movie theatre experience, but it was rather nauseating all the same, and he hardly ever ate the stuff. Sasha made really good popcorn in a pot, with oil — oh, shit, Sasha. He would be at home wondering if they had been mangled in some horrible accident, and Casey had been too distracted out in the lobby to think of it until now. "Zeke — we should tell Sasha where we are."

Zeke shook his head with obvious exasperation. "I swear, sometimes it's like having an old maiden aunt living with us."

"He'll be worried."

"You're right." Zeke seemed uneasy then. He looked worriedly to Casey, saying, "I still haven't got my cell phone set up. I'll have to go out to the lobby."

"Oh."

"You can come with me if you want."

"No...That's okay, I'll stay here."

"You sure?"

"Yes," Casey said, before his real feelings could force him to use some other word.

"Be right back." Zeke gave him a quick, sympathetic smile and hurried off.

Casey put his feet up on the seat in front of him, bending his knees, sliding his hands between them. He stared at his hands and forced himself not to rock back and forth. Zeke would be gone for ten minutes, maybe less, and he had promised...Casey had to use reason, he was capable of it and he had to.

But Zeke had promised not to let him go and now here he was sitting here by himself like every other time — no, you stupid, pathetic...he isn't, he's just going to the lobby, that's all, he has every intention of coming back. Things happened like Zeke had said. Things happened, not everything was within his control, and that was why it had to have been more than ten minutes now that Zeke had not been here.

A mob of teenagers passed Casey in the aisle, heading to the back row. Their noise and conversation made Casey look up involuntarily, then avert his face, watching them out of the corner of his eye. They mostly ignored him. One of them, a tall, gangly fellow with a pierced lip, saw him looking and smirked an almost-challenge. Well-honed instincts kicked in and Casey glanced away quickly,

The theatre darkened and the standard commercials for Dentyne and McDonald's and Toyota came up on the screen. No reason to be worried, no reason to be nervous... He had sat here just like this by himself and been perfectly happy so many times...many, many times, not expecting to be with anyone. There were those few occasions when Roy said he would meet him there and then didn't show up. Like that time when they were showing the entire Star Wars trilogy back-to-back at his favourite repertory theatre. He and Roy were supposed to watch it and then Roy was going to take him out for a late dinner. Nothing too momentous. It wasn't like it was his birthday or anything. Still, when Roy called him to say he couldn't make it, Casey made the mistake of pleading and demanding to know what Roy was doing that was so important he couldn't keep his promise — and Roy got angry. He told Casey not to be a whiny bitch and hung up. Casey went to the trilogy alone, feeling frozen from the inside out. He was crying when the heroes marched up the aisle to receive their medals. He left when Han Solo was put into carbon freeze. Later, Roy begged for forgiveness. He explained how his father was hounding him to spend time with Janice but he hated every second of it and he was the whiny bitch, not Casey. And Casey forgave. He always forgave, and he knew better than to ask Roy to go to movies or anywhere else after that. He should wait for Roy to ask him, that way there wouldn't be any conflict.

So there was no reason to be nervous now, no reason to sit here expecting anything. This was just the norm. No one was coming. Casey didn't like going to movies with him anyway. It was one thing to go to some crappy movie you didn't care about and make out in the back corner, that was fun but he was here to see something good, something he — liked — something — he —

He couldn't remember what movie he was here to see.

A tall figure rushed up the stairs in the dark and stopped in front of him. He braced himself, digging his fingers into his knees, waiting for them to pass him by. Instead, they were sitting down next to him.

He remembered now. He wasn't supposed to be alone, not this time. Not today.

"Sorry I took so long," Zeke said.

Casey thought he moved his shoulders, he wasn't sure. He put his feet down. Zeke was saying something else, explaining the reasons but he was thinking, I want to go home. I don't like it here.

"I guess you saw the original."

I don't like it, I want to leave...

He turned to Zeke. He was going to say it.

 

Zeke was sure he'd have time to stop in at the concession stand and get some popcorn. Drenched with butter, yeah, and that nasty flavoured powder. No one could actually resist that when it was under their nose.

Then he got to the payphones. One was out of order and the other was in use by a thirty-ish female person with big hair who kept talking and talking and staring defiantly at Zeke. He shifted his weight and swore to himself that first thing tomorrow he was going to get his cell phone in service. He glared at her, and finally, after he had been standing there for more than ten minutes he pointedly tapped his watch and mouthed Do you mind? This of course produced exactly the opposite result that he wanted. Fury started to consume him as he envisioned Casey freaking out in the theatre and Sasha freaking out at home. If it came right down to it, he would sooner let Sasha freak out than Casey, but there was no fucking reason for it when there was a perfectly good phone he could use.

He stepped up to the woman. Her eyes widened like she expected him to assault her. "Look," he said, interrupting her. "It's actually kind of urgent that I use this phone now. If you want to spend the afternoon gabbing, do it at home."

"Fuck off," was her response.

"Yeah, right back at 'cha, sweetheart. Are you going to hang up or not?"

She rolled her eyes melodramatically and said to her victim on the other end, "I've got to go, there's some bastard here who needs the phone." She slammed it down and stalked off.

"I'm really impressed," Zeke muttered, inserting his quarter. Sasha answered on the third ring, sounding extremely vexed. "Hey, Sasha — "

"Where the hell are you two? I thought you'd be back by now."

"Uh...Casey and I decided to take in a movie."

"A movie? Now?"

"It was an impulse thing. Just thought we'd let you know so you don't worry."

"Gee. I appreciate that."

"I'm in a rush, Sasha, so what's your damage now?"

"Oh, nothing. You enjoy yourself."

"Spit it out already!"

"Apart from the fact that I really need to talk to you and Casey — Stokes is here mourning the demise of her relationship with Stan. Even as we speak she's sobbing in the bathroom."

"Shit."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I'm sorry for her — will you be okay there for the time being?"

"Zeke," Sasha said dangerously. "Is she your friend or not?"

"Yeah, she is, but we already bought our tickets and Casey's waiting for me in the theatre." Zeke glanced anxiously around the lobby, fretting, half expecting to see Casey running up to him, hyperventilating and raving. "By himself," he added.

"Oh," Sasha said, then added with a permissive sigh, "Go then."

"Okay...'bye."

He hung up and tried to rush back to the theatre but was stopped by the man who guarded the way in. "Ticket?" the man requested.

"You already ripped it," Zeke snapped, starting to feel genuinely frantic.

"You're supposed to keep it with you, sir."

"I'll remember that next time, okay?"

The man regarded him with disapproval. He was an older man who patently didn't like Zeke's attitude. Obviously suffering from premature senility too since he didn't remember Zeke coming through here fifteen minutes ago.

"Please," Zeke said. "My friend is in there, he's..." He cast about for the right ploy and decided on the truth. Well, the truth with a little exaggeration couldn't hurt either. "He has difficulty being out in public, if I don't get back to him soon...It could be bad." He left it up to the attendant's imagination as to what that could mean.

The man frowned, like he wasn't sure if he believed Zeke. "All right," he said at last, slowly.

The trailers were already rolling when Zeke re-entered the theatre, picking his way upwards to where he remembered having left Casey. A shiny pair of eyes stared wildly up at him when he was close enough to see them.

"Sorry I took so long," he said, sitting on the aisle-side of Casey where he could function as a barrier. "There was this — woman — on the phone talking about her trip to the shoe store and her great dilemma about whether or not to go back to her original hair stylist, I had to kick her off. And then the damned Nazi outside didn't want to let me in."

Casey didn't say anything, staring straight ahead now as the trailer for Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone played. His back looked stiff, his neck looked stiff — his whole posture was stiff. Zeke frowned to himself. Casey wouldn't be angry at him for taking so long — would he? No, he was probably just trying to shake off the anxiety and didn't want Zeke to comment. Zeke decided to try just settling in and draping a comfortable arm around Casey, hoping that would relax him, but Casey flinched slightly when Zeke touched him, his shoulders lying tense under Zeke's arm.

Feature Presentation, the screen announced.

"You saw the original, I guess," Zeke whispered, glancing over at Casey. Hoping for a constructive response.

Nothing. Casey's eyes were fixed on the screen, ringed by silver moisture, his face bloodless in the pale light. The title music started, accompanying images of unidentifiable stygian black rock. He tried to watch it while watching Casey, who continued to stare up at the screen. Then, while the first scene of the movie unfolded, Casey finally turned his head to look at Zeke.

"What, Case?" Zeke whispered.

Casey's expression just moved from one clump of indefinable emotions to another. He laid his head against Zeke's shoulder, in a clear plea that they just watch the movie.

So Zeke proceeded to do just that and soon found himself fairly absorbed in the story. Meanwhile he fell into a rhythmic stroking of Casey's opposite shoulder and neck. Somewhere along, Casey's left hand drifted up and clasped his, keeping it in place on his opposite shoulder.

It wasn't long after that when Zeke realized that Casey was extremely still, and had been for some time. He wasn't sure why it felt wrong, other than the absence of the little movements, the occasional fidgets and shifting one way or another that were the norm for someone crammed into a little chair for two hours. And the absolute silence. A sideways glance verified his suspicion. No, Casey was not asleep and he wasn't watching the movie either although his eyes were open, staring at the screen, unblinking.

Zeke had seen this enough times now that he could skip the panic and move straight on to the guilt. This had been a mistake. Maybe it was just too overwhelming, on top of everything else. He rubbed Casey's shoulder sadly. Well, he had wanted to spend time with Casey, and he was spending time with Casey. This was probably a first, though; movies were Casey's escape, and now apparently he felt the need to escape from one.

"Good work, Tyler," Zeke muttered to himself.

It was becoming his daily affirmation: It will be what it will be. Expectation was the root of all unhappiness, of course, but they would never get to the point where they could be out in public together if they didn't try. So they tried. The university. The aquarium. A museum. A movie theatre. So maybe it had been a disaster every single time — no, not a disaster. Mostly it could be called a mixed success. Today was not a total write-off yet. In fact, he seemed to recall enjoying a few minutes of it earlier.

There didn't seem to be much Zeke could do except wait for the movie to finish. He kept rubbing Casey's shoulder, and jostling him a little bit every few minutes while he kept an eye on the unfolding story in front of him. After the surprise ending, Zeke decided to wait for others in the theatre to vacate. The change in dynamic in the room didn't disturb Casey at all, so Zeke had to start devising a plan to get him on his feet. What had worked once should work again, he figured. He leaned Casey's head against his chest while he dug through his pockets for his keys.

It turned out he didn't have to resort to the key therapy. Suddenly Casey was lifting his head, looking blankly at the theatre staff as they moved around the house, cleaning the floor and the seats.

"Hiya," Zeke said. "Good movie, huh?"

Casey licked his lips, shivering. "I..."

"It's okay, Case. It's okay."

"...smelled you."

"What?"

"Your...aftershave...could smell you."

"I hope that's not a bad thing."

Casey ducked his head, his expression one of terror and apology. As always after waking from one of these trances, he seemed hyper-sensitive, like his nerves were inflamed and couldn't tolerate even the most mundane sensory events.

"Come on...you'll feel better in the car," Zeke said in his best, upbeat voice.

He took a firm grip on Casey's arms and pulled, and was relieved when Casey ultimately got up without too much exertion on his part. They walked out together, to the car, Zeke keeping an arm around Casey, showing him to the passenger-side door of the Mustang and then going quickly around to his own side.

"I'm so sorry," Casey blurted, the moment that Zeke was behind the wheel.

"Did you see any of the movie?"

"A bit," Casey replied, almost inaudibly, on the verge of tears.

"It's really okay, Case, I'm just sorry you didn't get to enjoy it. But we'll try again, right?"

"Yeah," Casey sighed wearily.

Zeke turned the key in the ignition. "I guess we should go home."

The thought of that made him feel every bit as weary as Casey was sounding. Home was where Sasha was, waiting to generate more crisis. Where Stokely was having a crisis of her own.

Without consultation, Zeke took the long way home. A really long way that added about three hours to the trip. Casey seemed more than okay with this at least; he put his head on the seat and dozed off, and for Zeke, it suddenly became the best part of the day. There again was that great pleasure in pounding down the highway with Casey asleep in the car beside him while he avoided going where he was supposed to go. He explored for a couple of hours, finding exits to several parks and scenic points of interest. He had to stop to fill up the tank with gas, using a pay-at-the pump station so he would be within twenty feet of Casey at all times.

The sun was low in the sky when they were back inside the downtown core. About ten blocks from home, Casey stirred and straightened up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He didn't speak until the Mustang was parked in its spot behind their building.

"What time is it?" Casey asked, his voice thick.

"After five, I think."

Casey frowned, visibly kicking himself.

"You didn't sleep much last night, did you?" Zeke said.

Casey stammered slightly in answering. "No, I — I think my s-sleep is all — messed up now."

"You should have told me," Zeke said. He had just drifted off last night like some happy jerk who just got laid. Sure he had asked and Casey had answered but he should have known better than to leave it at that.

With a shrug, Casey said, "It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters." Zeke reached across the space in the front seat of the car, so well-travelled by them now — unable to help himself, unable ever to stop touching — and ran the back of his hand along Casey's cheek, tracing the darkened groove just below one eye. The skin there was paper-thin, fragile. "We should go in, Sasha's probably having seizures — but I have to tell you something first."

"What?"

"Stokes is here, or she was when I spoke to Sasha a few hours ago. It looks like she and Stan are done."

"Oh," Casey said in a monotone. Whatever balance he had regained with the afternoon nap was spiralling away right before Zeke's eyes.

"Yeah, well," Zeke observed. "It is too bad, but these things happen."

Casey said nothing at all now.

"It's not your fault, Case. Or mine. Stokes made a point of saying so before. Actually, I've always thought they were a bit of an odd couple."

"Like us?" Casey asked hollowly.

"No, not like us," Zeke said, surprised. He tended to think of himself and Casey as fairly complementary to each other. "I don't think Stan and Stokely were meant to be together."

Casey's eyes widened, and Zeke realized that he had just, in a roundabout way, made a statement suitable for wedding vows. Next he'd be writing greeting cards for a living.

He expected to find Stokes on the living room couch sobbing in Sasha's arms, but instead she was at the stove, stirring something in a big pot, looking reasonably collected. There was a glass of something that looked suspiciously like soda on the counter nearby. That was shocking enough, but when she turned to address them, Zeke realized that it wasn't only soda; her eyes were feverishly bright, her cheeks flushed. She wasn't drunk, but she was well on her way.

"Hey, guys!" she exclaimed, bounding over and hugging each of them effusively. "We missed you!"

"Sorry," Zeke said. "We just needed a little break, you know?"

"Yeah, I know how that is." Stokes turned back to her cauldron.

"Whatcha cooking?"

"Chili."

"With meat, or without?"

"Without, of course. Sasha said, and I quote, 'He's welcome to cook his own dinner if he doesn't like it.'"

"Did I complain?"

"It was the way you breathed."

"Oh. I'll have to watch that from now on. Where is Sasha, anyway?"

"He just stepped out to get some bread." Stokely took a healthy slurp from her drink, ice-cubes clinking. Zeke noted the open bottle of rum on the counter to her left. "You hungry, Case?" she asked.

"Yeah," Casey said, as though surprised by it.

"Good, 'cause this recipe feeds about twenty." Stokely took a breath, and visibly forced the cheer-o-metre up a few notches. "I guess you guys know about me and Stan?"

"I'm really sorry — " Casey said.

Stokes bright face fell apart. Tears rose up, and she sniffed, fighting them furiously. "It — it's stupid!"

"It's not stupid," Zeke said.

"I really thought we would — would always be together..."

Casey suggested, "Maybe he'll — "

"No, he won't. He's stubborn, he doesn't want to change..."

Zeke proposed, "I could go pound on him."

Stokely uttered a choked, if genuine, laugh. "You're just looking for a reason."

"Not at all..." he teased, making a joke of it.

Stokely's eye drifted to Casey. "Hey. Casey. I'm sorry to make a scene like this." She laughed again, self-deprecating and just a little bitter.

Casey shook his head and said with perfect wry humour, "Don't be, I'm a huge fan of making scenes."

As often as Zeke was amazed by Casey, he could still be caught out — even though he shouldn't be, because he knew all too well that Casey had a way of seeing what a person needed and giving it to them, whatever they needed, whatever the cost to himself.

This time, Stokely's laugh was more genuine. "It — it'll be okay," she said. "It is okay."

"Really?" Casey asked her.

She blinked. "Yes — I mean, no, it's not, not really but it is. I'm so pissed off at him right now, I don't ever want to see his face again!"

Casey had no response to that.

"And you know something else?" she added. "I'd rather not think about him for a little while. Seems like I've been thinking non-stop about him for months. Could you guys — you don't mind if I hang out here tonight?"

"Of course not," Zeke said. "Is Stan...?"

"Stan's moving in with Charly." Stokely downed the rest of her drink all at once. "So on top of everything else I'm worried about how I'm going to pay the rent by myself."

"Don't worry about that," Zeke told her. "That's the last thing you need to worry about."

"Uhh, no...It isn't, but I really don't want to talk about this now. You know what I was thinking about? I haven't played Trivial Pursuit in ages, maybe we could play later. You've got to have one of those lying around, right Zeke?"

"I think, in one of the boxes I haven't unpacked yet."

"Dig it up."

"Yes, ma'am!"

Zeke managed to find the game down in the storage room that had been assigned to them with their apartment, under the stairs. He returned dust-blanketed. By then Sasha had returned from his bread-shopping and he greeted Zeke with a massive stare that left no doubt that Stokely's presence was the only reason he wasn't being hauled into another relationship seminar at this very moment.

Shortly, they sat down to the chili and a grainy bread full of seeds and flakes. Altogether, it wasn't bad. The chili was loaded with three kinds of beans, peppers, tomatoes and corn. It was topped with cheese, too, and was hot enough to clear the sinuses. Stokely grew steadily more intoxicated but she was a cheerful drunk. Zeke joined her, spurning the rum in favour of beer. After they finished eating they stayed at the table for a while, talking about nothing of consequence, and Zeke felt a resurrection of the same, ebullient mood he had awakened to that morning. Along the way, either he took Casey's hand or Casey took his so they were clasped together on top of the table. He didn't miss Sasha's eyes watching them and he wanted to crow see, I didn't hurt him. In the end, letters from ex-boyfriends were far more hurtful but maybe it didn't help to dwell on them. They were crap, they made you angry and upset and jealous but they were just that. You were here, you were real. Not Roy. Why not wait for that letter just fade away instead of inviting some line-by-line exegesis? Maybe, like Casey said, there was nothing to talk about. To talk about it would be to give value to crap.

With the empty bowls were stacked and removed from the table it was time to unpack the Trivial Pursuit but Sasha had to be persuaded to play. "I'm not a trivia person," he claimed. "You guys will bury me."

"Oh, come on, you probably know more than you think," Stokely pressed, removing the board and pieces from the box.

"Fine," Sasha grumbled, "But I want to play in teams."

"If you want."

"And I want Casey on my team." Sasha smiled at Casey, who blinked at him in surprise.

"I guess that means it's you and me," Zeke said to Stokes.

Sasha rolled for himself and Casey. For their first question he chose pink without consulting Casey; as it was the entertainment category, Zeke doubted that there would be much objection anyway.

Stokely read: "'What 1984 horror movie marked the film debut of Johnny Depp?'"

With a stagey flourish, Sasha indicated his partner would answer, and Casey did. "Nightmare on Elm Street."

"He got sucked into a bed!" Stokely supplied.

"Huh," Sasha commented, regarding her with obvious and genuine liking. "What I wouldn't give to suck Johnny into a bed."

"I have an idea," Zeke said, "Someday we should run an experiment to see if you can turn anything that anyone says into gay innuendo."

"Say again? You want a gay in your endo?"

"Ugh," Zeke said, but Stokes exploded with laughter. It was a fact of life: Lots of things were funny under the influence of alcohol that wouldn't be otherwise.

Sasha rolled quickly, counted spaces and said, "I think we have a green question....coh...ahh ahh...ming."

"Enough or I'll have to puke up my veggies," Zeke threatened. "What planet's 17-mile high Olympus Mons is the largest mountain in the solar system?"

"I know that one," Sasha jumped in. "It's a trick question. It's earth, because no one thinks about earth as one of the planets."

"Casey?" Zeke prompted.

"Hmm?"

"'What planet's seventeen-mile-high Olympus Mons is the largest mountain in the solar system.'"

"Mars," Casey said.

"Kitten, I think I've got this one."

"Hey," Zeke said. "Who's the science major and who's the chef here?"

"I didn't know they included planetary geography in the physics curriculum these days," Sasha retorted, more strident about it than he needed to be in Zeke's opinion. "Just let me be useful, why don't you?"

Zeke looked to Casey; he was staring at the fake wood grain of their dining table as though there was something deeply tragic about it.

"All right, Mars," Sasha conceded ungraciously. His eyes were narrowed again, his brief good humour vanished.

"Mars it is," Zeke said, making a point of sounding neutral. Unlike Sasha, he could play nice. "Go again."

The team of chef and physicist was stuck with a sports question next. They went down in flames as could be expected, not that Casey even heard the question. The mood at the table was deflating quickly, and Zeke had more or less lost his buzz.

Zeke rolled and he and Stokes agreed on a brown question. Sasha handed a card to Casey, who looked at him like he had never seen words printed in English. "They want a brown question," Sasha prompted him.

Nodding slowly, Casey read, "'Who was the first hobbit to break with tradition by mingling with elves and dwarves?'"

"Hah, I never read that one," Zeke said. "I tried in once and it was like reading a linguistics textbook...but the name 'Frodo' rings a bell."

"No, it's 'Bilbo!'" Stokely erupted. "Zeke, how could you not know that?"

"I'm not a geek?"

"Hey, I resemble that remark. "

"You can always count on Zeke for complete confidence in his decisions," Sasha asserted out of the blue. "What's done is done, you know."

It was a replay of breakfast for sure. The guest looked mystified and Casey was clearly on the verge of running away. Zeke opened his mouth to tell Sasha to either lay off or go to his room until he had sorted himself out.

And now someone was at their door. Zeke had never heard the sound before; it was a very loud, very abrasive buzzer. Stokely's eyes got huge, alarmed. It had to be Stan. There were other explanations for that noise, but nothing else that was even plausible.

"Oh, shit," Stokes said.

Zeke got up to open the door, and Stan stood unhappily out on the metal step. There was red around Stan's eyes and his jaw was unshaven — but it was as chiselled and determined as ever. He knew he was going into the field with points, downs and yards all stacked against him. "Zeke," he said in greeting.

"What do you want?"

Stan tried to get a look past Zeke's shoulder. "Can I come in, at least?"

Zeke stood back to let him enter, not expecting very much to come of it. He saw Stokes on her feet at the table. She said, "I don't want to talk to you, Stan."

"Actually, I'm here to talk to Zeke."

"Oh," Stokely said softly, subsiding into her chair.

Stan addressed his next words to Zeke. "If you'll let me. I might have phoned first but I figured you'd just hang up, so here I am."

Obliquely, Zeke glanced at Casey sitting just as he had been, and to Zeke's eyes he had never looked so isolated. He was watching the scene before him with exactly the same expression that he had looked at the movie screen earlier. Zeke yearned to remove him from all of this, just take him into the bedroom and shut the door. But first he would have to talk to Stan. This would be Stan's crack at making amends and Zeke would allow him to try, for Stokely's sake at least.

"Okay," he allowed. "Let's go up on the roof, I can smoke while we talk." He nodded at Stokes, then Casey. "We won't be long."

Up on the roof the weather was still gorgeous, even without the sun, and Zeke wondered as started on his latest cigarette why they hadn't been sitting up here all along. The space was really quite misused. So far it was the place where Zeke came either to smoke or to talk — usually both at the same time. Perhaps the vibes from all the dramatic confrontations up here were chasing people off. "All right, shoot," he said, bracing himself for one more.

"Aunt Charly was disappointed that you guys didn't show last night," was how Stan got started.

"The Connors explained, didn't they?"

"They said there was an emergency and you couldn't make it. An emergency, Zeke? How lame is that?"

"It happens to be the truth, not that I give a damn if you or your aunt don't believe me. What the hell does she want with me and Casey anyway?"

"Nothing, Zeke. You're so paranoid."

"I'm realistic."

Stan snorted. "Yeah, sure. What kind of emergency, then?"

"A 'mind your own business' kind of emergency that kept us from showing up for dinner."

"Okay, I won't ask anymore." Stan had been fidgeting in place; now he was dipping his toe in a small depression where some rainwater had puddled and hadn't quite evaporated, drawing patterns. He said then, "Stokes is drinking tonight."

"So?"

"She never drinks with me."

"And this is a problem? That she doesn't get shit-faced enough for you?"

"No, Zeke — " Stan looked away. His voice was tight, almost breaking. "It's just that she used to be a lot more fun. Lately...she hasn't been fun at all. It's all...I can't do this or I won't do that, like she's fifty years old."

Zeke thought it best not to comment on that.

"I said that to her," Stan said, a bit shamefaced. "She got really hurt and pissed off."

"Well — duh."

"I know I shouldn't have said it, but I was mad. She thinks I don't want to better myself at all, which is just not true."

"Stan," Zeke said. "Did you come here to try and get me on your side? If you are, I'm leaving the second I finish this cigarette."

"No. I came here to..." Stan cleared his throat. "To apologize."

"For what, exactly?"

"For saying what I said. That...that you don't have real feelings for Casey, that it wasn't right."

"You've got your lines down, anyway."

"What — ? Zeke — I really am sorry, I'm not just saying that! Stokes pointed out a few things to me. I never realized you had a thing for Casey in high school. I really thought this was some sort of weird post-alien shit and I was wrong about that, okay?"

"Yes. You were."

"And I'm sorry for implying that Casey and you are only together because he's sick. I have a problem with — with gay stuff."

"'Gay stuff,'" Zeke echoed, his brows shooting up.

"Ho - homosexuality. It bothers me, okay? It's just the way I was brought up."

"No, really?"

"I'll never make another comment, Zeke. I'll never say a word again and I swear I'll try as hard as I can not to react to anything I see. That's the best I can do. I would promise never to make a face or look away but I'd be lying."

"So you'll just shut up and go around thinking what you think."

Stan was rooted in place, shaking. "What do you want from me?" he demanded. "I know in my head that you're not hurting anyone and that guys — can — er — two guys can love each other. It's just this feeling that I can't help that makes me react but I think that if I'm around you two — you three — all the time that it might get easier. Just give me a fucking chance!"

"I don't know," Zeke said, truly undecided. His brain told him that Stan would never be able to shake this off no matter how much he wanted to. Meanwhile, his gut wanted his friend back.

Stan muttered, "I'll bet Casey would give me a chance."

Despite the warm night air, Zeke got a chill. "Say what?"

Lifting his chin, Stan plunged on, "You gonna tell me that when you realized you had feelings for him you just shrugged and hopped into bed with him? I'm not a complete idiot. I'll bet Casey's had to be pretty damn forgiving, huh?"

Well, fuck.

Zeke folded his arms, sat down on one of the wicker chairs.

Fuck.

"Okay," he allowed finally. Stan just looked confused, so Zeke explained, "It's true, Casey has had to forgive a lot more than I ever have."

Stan took a step back, reeling exaggeratedly. "Is that anything like saying you were wrong?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Now there was a tentative grin on Stan's face.

"All right," Zeke said. "Maybe I could follow Casey's example just a bit. Not too far, mind you, because he is too forgiving for his own good. But it wouldn't feel right not to give you some time — to try."

Stan suddenly crumbled into the other chair, across from him. He had tears in his eyes that Zeke hadn't seen. "Thanks, Zeke." He sniffed, rubbing his eye quickly as though he had dust in it. "Now if only I could get Stokes to stop hating me."

 

Sasha was saying his name in a certain tone that Casey completely recognized. It was the tone people used when they'd already said his name several times and were trying to decide if they were annoyed or scared. For his part, Casey had long since stopped being frightened by it. It seemed that there had always been these fractures in his continuum. They got wider and wider until today an entire movie had slipped into one, and it wasn't going to stop until he disappeared into it himself.

"Kitten..." Sasha had touched his hand. Sasha was about to say something else, then changed his mind and instead asked merely, "Help me with the dishes?"

He nodded quickly, needing a task to concentrate on. Stokely remained at the table, drinking her latest drink very quickly. She was getting a slowed down, droopy look, the kind that people did when they were in the later stages of drunkenness. She would not be happy with herself tomorrow.

"You okay, Stokes?" Sasha asked. He was washing and Casey was drying. Wiping the bowl, focussing on cloth circling, drying one side, then the other...goes in the cupboard but which one? He didn't know where anything went in their house. He might as well not be here at all.

"Yeah, sure. Whadda you...shuppose they're talking about?"

Stokely was looking at him, he realized. He wished he could say something. If he thought there was anything he could say to make her feel better, he would have tried.

"Case...listen. Stan may s-say this all happened because you worked your gay voodoo on Zeke but don't believe it, kay? It was lots-s-s of things that I've just been trying ignore all along, and this was jusht the final straw. His attitude wasn't changing...and it pissed me off. Even if he gets Zeke to forgive him...it won't be enough. He said some things..." Her voice faded. She took a shaky sip of her rum and coke. "I figure it wass a matter of time before he showed up begging and pleading and — promis-shing things. But you know what I can't figure out? If he knows what to promise me now, why couldn't he just do it in the first place? Like — yesterday even, would have been good."

Maybe Stan hadn't been scared enough. Some people never got scared, so they never had to try. Then out of the blue they had a moment of terror and wrote a letter where they said what they thought needed to be heard — as much as they could ever understand that — and without a thought of what it would do to someone they mailed the thing off for someone else to deal with.

Sasha said mildly, "It takes time for people to change, Stokes. Even when they know what they have to do, it still takes a helluva long time for them to learn how. If they can change at all."

"It'sh one thing to not be able to change and another thing to not ever even try, ya know? He actually made fun of me, of all the things I've done — things I've done to try to improve myself. I may not have it all figured out but at least I'm — I'm trying. He doesn't want to change, ever. He wants-s-s everything to stay exactly the same."

Stokely was almost growling with anger. Casey envied her that clean, righteous feeling. It looked pure. It protected her. It was something he'd never had access to. He was guilty of far too many things, he'd failed over and over as son, friend, lover, student...person.

Casey put down his dishtowel. This was the part where he was supposed to say something...where he opened his mouth to say...nothing meaningful just anything. Instead, he walked away.

"Kitten?" Sasha's voice floated after him.

"I'm cold," he said, wondering momentarily why, of all the things he could have said, he had chosen that. Yeah, that would really put Sasha at ease, that. He closed the door, making an effort not to slam it, and rested his forehead against it, shivering. "Cold..." he muttered, "that doesn't make sense...you're stupid and fucked up beyond belief, you're such a mess, aren't you, baby? But we'll take care of you — if you can just stop talking to yourself like a fucking lunatic —"

Sasha spoke through the door. "Casey? You okay?"

He had his hands up in his hair at nape of his neck, and he was pulling, pulling until it really and truly hurt. "Yes," he said clearly. "I'm fine. I'm sorry."

"We never really got a chance to talk this morning."

Sasha would have read the letter now. Just another one of those things that had slipped away from him.

"I'd like to talk to you, okay? It's about — what I read."

He yanked as hard as he could; tears came to his eyes solely from the pain. "Maybe," was the best he could do.

"Can I come in?"

Sasha didn't wait for Casey's permission before he turned the knob. He didn't really respect closed bathroom doors anymore, and that was fair.

"Are you going to bed now?" Sasha said, laying hands on him. "It's still pretty early."

"I just wanted to — to —" he faltered and resolved upon a half-truth. "I wanted to hide for a few minutes."

"Casey," Sasha said softly. "Why not talk to me?"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not, you're — "

"Please don't. Don't — tell Zeke."

"Tell — ?"

"Don't tell him, I'm..." Zeke wanted to think that the day after they fucked everything would be better, that you woke up the next morning changed. "Zeke wants it to be a good day."

"Oh, kitten. Do you really think you're fooling anybody? We're not blind, you know. You had a helluva blow yesterday — "

"I'll be better tomorrow, really, just — just — "

"I can't wait until tomorrow," Sasha said.

Casey shook his head in outright refusal. Casey was certain that Sasha was going to start it right now, unleash the monster, say things. He was ready to slam the door in Sasha's face and turn on the shower and stand in it stopping his ears with his hands — but Sasha said only, "I hear Stan's voice."

It was not only Stan's voice, it was Stokely's too. Sasha went back to the kitchen; Casey supposed he was required to follow. Stokes and Stan were standing facing each other, arguing while Zeke was at the door from the roof, looking apprehensive.

"...very nice for you," Stokely was saying. "And I'm...happy for you both but it doesn't change anything for me."

Stan's fists were clenched and shaking. "Why do you have to be so — so — "

"What?"

"So frigging stubborn!"

"Stan...I'm really not up to this now. Please leave, okay? You want to argue some more, call me tomorrow."

"But Stokes — "

"This isn't even our place, Stan!"

That had an effect. Stan looked guiltily at his three hosts and said, with a mournful glance at Stokes, "Okay. Casey...I'm sorry. And Sasha...sorry. I've been pretty obnoxious here, haven't I?" He let himself out without another word.

Stokely burst into tears.

No one moved at first. Then Sasha went to Stokely and gave her the full treatment, hugging her and stroking her back, even rocking her. She went with that for a bit, until the sobs eased and she stepped back, visibly trying to regain control.

"What did he figure out?" Sasha asked her quietly.

"They — um — " Stokely got out.

"I guess you could say we made our peace," Zeke supplied.

"You're kidding," Sasha replied. "What did he say to convince you?"

Zeke's eyes were on Casey then. "He reminded me that others have been a little bit more patient with me than I've been with him."

Without warning, Sasha's countenance transformed into something ferocious. He snapped, "Others would have done better to not be patient with you at all."

"You don't think I should give him another chance?" Stokely asked, sounding a lot younger than her twenty years.

Sasha paused, then said soberly, "I can't tell you that."

Zeke snorted and said, "Since when have you stopped telling people things?"

"I'll tell you any damn thing I like!" Sasha erupted, rounding on him, flattening him.

Casey was thinking about screaming All day I've been trying, I've been choking from trying and now you won't let me try... because Sasha never was able to let anything stay in the dark, even for a second. Even if the light burned you, he had to turn it on you full blast.

Into the painful quiet, Stokes said, "I should go."

"No," Zeke protested weakly. "You should stay here. Crash here on the couch."

"No, I want to go home. It's not like I'm driving. I'll be fine."

Sasha was saying nothing, obviously counting seconds, politely waiting for her to leave. Casey watched his reprieve vanish. Fair was fair, though --- why should she want to stay here now? She was agitated, a bit disoriented; she turned a full circle in the process of trying to retrieve her jacket and get to the door. He thought about hugging her, wondering if she would want him to. He should hug her —

"Thanks, guys," she said. "For supper and...everything. We'll finish that game some other time."

The door closed quietly, leaving the three of them together in the kitchen.

"Alone at last," Zeke said, his tone absolutely caustic.

Casey eyed the hallway, wondering what Sasha would do if he just left the room. The fact was, he didn't dare. He was afraid to stay where he was and he was afraid to try to leave. He was trapped on the spot, waiting for his executioner to smile and pat him on the head before he delivered the blow.

"So you'll never guess what happened to me this morning while you were on your way to the airport," Sasha said.

His manner was cordial once again but there was no lessening of the tension in the room whatsoever and Casey could barely look in his direction. Zeke waved a hand and said, "I feel sure you're going to tell us."

"Let's sit down, shall we? I'll tell you in a second, but I thought I'd make coffee — or, not coffee. We have a substitute that Stokely brought over for Casey to try. Thought I'd brew some of that, see how it is." His lifted his brows at Casey, luring him into his web.

"No, thanks," Casey tried. "I'd...rather go to bed."

"Me too," said Zeke defiantly.

Sasha brushed off their attempts at escape with a word. "Nope. First we're going to sit at this table and drink a cup of —" Sasha was already pulling out the tin and reading, "'Kawfay...a delicious alternative.' Well, we're all about alternatives here. Zeke? You in?"

"Pass," Zeke said tightly.

"Well, I'll give this stuff a try. No reason for Casey to suffer alone, right?"

Casey didn't see what Zeke looked like then because he was staring desperately at the floor. He heard Zeke snarl, "Why can't you ever stop?"

"I'll stop when it feels safe to stop. Sit, both of you."

He waited for Zeke to blast Sasha with some hybrid of obscenity and four- syllable words. It didn't happen. Zeke stayed where he was and didn't speak, while Casey obeyed Sasha and sat. No one spoke while the water boiled and Sasha spooned something that resembled instant coffee into two mugs. He brought Casey his cup of brown liquid doctored with milk and sugar. It smelled like a root cellar.

"Thanks," Casey said, as Sasha plonked down adjacent to him.

"How does it taste?"

Tentatively, Casey took a sip. He didn't let his face react as he said, "Coffee- like."

"Liar. I've got some right here in front of me you know. But it was worth a try, right? There are other brands too."

"So what happened today?" Zeke wanted to know. "You said something happened to you."

Sasha said, "Sit down, please." He sounded very much like a strict teacher with a recalcitrant eight-year-old, not so much requesting as requiring.

Zeke whuffed with impatience, and came to the table. He sat, but kept his arms folded.

"Someone called and asked me on a date," Sasha announced. "One of the waiters at work. We've been sending each other meaningful glances over the sauces."

"Congratulations," Zeke said icily.

"I didn't even give him my phone number. He must have bribed someone at work for it." Sasha took a contemplative sip from his mug, and pulled a face. "Ugh, that's disgusting." He pushed it away, a symbolic gesture more than anything else. "He asked me out tonight but I'm thinking I won't go."

Zeke rolled his eyes and asked, "Why not?"

"Because — quite frankly — I'm worried about what you and Casey will get up to if I leave you by yourselves here."

Casey looked to Zeke, who seemed to be speechless for the second or third time tonight.

"Yeah, I'd like to have a life of my own," Sasha continued, in Zeke's direction. "I would much rather be on a date than interfering here and yeah, it feels entirely weird to be doing this. I don't like to be so involved in someone else's sex life but I don't feel like I have a choice. You have stars in your eyes and Casey doesn't seem to understand the uses of the word 'no.'"

Casey heard himself declare: "I don't need that word."

Apart from a pained frown, Sasha gave him no acknowledgement. He went on, "Ultimately, there's nothing I can do to stop you two doing whatever the hell you want. I know that. I'm going to be at work five nights a week and you'll be on your own here."

Zeke had finally found something to say. "I thought you were okay with everything," he said.

"That was hours and hours ago, Zeke, and you did do a pretty good job of convincing me that I was overreacting. And then I read this — " Sasha extracted the folded pages from his inside shirt pocket and put them on the table " — this piece of shit that Roy wrote. This isn't a letter, it's attempted murder." Sasha was rubbing his forehead, choosing his words carefully. "Zeke, I know that your intentions are good."

"Wait, what is this?" Zeke broke in. "What are you saying?"

"I'm sorry. I know you want to think that what you and Casey do together is somehow the antidote for all the other crap, and it can be —"

"I don't know where you get the idea that I woke up this morning expecting everything to be perfect."

"I don't think that, not at all. Zeke, one of the things I admire most about you is your ability to take it on the chin and keep going....but there's a thin line between staying positive and being in denial."

"I am so not in denial! You know, at some point you have to stop butting in. This is my personal life and Casey's you're messing with and you have no right. Get over it."

"I have no choice, I didn't butt in for two whole years and look what happened."

"I'm not Roy."

"No, you're not. You're a couple of confused kids, you two. I keep forgetting that because you're both such precocious little brats, but no more. I'm the responsible adult here and I'm calling a time-out – "

"Why won't you believe me when I tell you it wasn't a mistake?"

"I won't call it a mistake, Zeke. I won't touch it. But what about before and after? What about today?"

"Today was difficult, yes — "

"You didn't even see what I saw, Zeke. You say you don't expect everything to be perfect but Casey thinks you do. He's falling apart and desperate to hide it from you because he wants you to be happy. I caught him pulling his hair out in the bathroom and he begged me not to tell you!"

Casey couldn't bear to hear anymore. He was on his feet, crying at Sasha, "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm sorry, kitten. I have to."

"No, you don't, you don't have to do anything. You don't have to do anything!"

"I'm not trying to hurt you or keep you and Zeke apart, kitten. I'm trying to help and the only way I can do that is to make everything stop for a second so I can ask some questions that need to get asked. Not tomorrow or the day after, either. Today."

"I'm going to bed."

"No, you're not. You're staying right where you are."

Zeke, the guy who went around acting like he was in charge all the time, was just sitting there like a plastic replica of himself, his head down. He was holding onto the table. But Zeke had started this, hadn't he? It had to be read, the thing had to be read it couldn't just be left unopened because Zeke had to know. Casey didn't have to know, but Zeke did. So now everything was open for discussion but Casey was not going to discuss it. They could read it out loud to each other and speculate all they liked but they would have to leave him out of it.

A question came out of Sasha's mouth like he was asking what they wanted for dinner tomorrow. "What happened the last time you and Roy were together? In the hotel?"

Zeke's head jerked up. "Sasha," he said.

"Wh-wh-what?" Casey stuttered.

"You heard me. I've been good, kitten. I don't ask things, I don't force you to talk — but I can't anymore. It seems like I'm the only person prepared to ask a direct question around here."

Zeke was rubbing his head with a hand.

"Casey?" Sasha pressed. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Answer what?" Casey muttered.

"Nope, that's not going to work. You heard me. You always hear, Casey. I've let you get away with way too much."

The disbelief was paralyzing. Casey was watching this happen and still he couldn't believe it.

Sasha had opened the letter and was reading from it. "'Things got a little crazy the last time we were together, didn't they? I realize that it was a mistake now. I should never have made you do something that was so wrong for us, but you have to know that I'll do anything to keep you, baby. My mistake was thinking I needed to have Janice, too.'"

With his index finger, Sasha searched down the page and read some more: "'Janice and I are separated. We made a pretense of trying for a couple of weeks after the hotel. She asked me to change all my phone numbers and give up the apartment in Cincinnati, and I did.'"

Lifting his head Sasha said, "What happened that 'got a little crazy' and what does Janice have to do with it?" He waved the letter in his fist. "Tell me so I can go and kill him."

Casey looked right into Sasha's eyes and said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, no, you're smarter than that, kitten. If you didn't want anyone to ask, why did you let us read this?"

But — but I didn't, Zeke started it. And now Zeke was looking at him like he wanted an answer too but was afraid that Casey would never forgive him if he threw in his lot with Sasha. There was no answer, anyway. Nothing that they could know about.

"Casey?"

"I don't know what you're asking."

"Try again."

"No!" he yelled.

"So you do know that word."

"Yeah, I know it and the answer is no! No!"

He threw his cup of shit-water. The cup was too solid to break, but it made a satisfying noise hitting the cream-coloured wall, the brown liquid raining down in streaks. He glared at Sasha, panting.

"Nice, but I'm not finished," Sasha said calmly. "You can run in circles all you like, but I'm still going to be here waiting for you to talk to me."

"Why won't you — just — go away?"

"Because I love you."

"Well, I don't love you. I hate you." His voice shattered on the words. The monster was right in the room with them now. It was inhabiting him completely, filling his skin and Sasha was seeing it and Zeke was seeing it. Casey held out a hand, reaching for his letter. "G-give me that, it's mine."

Sasha's face was expressionless as he handed it over. Casey snatched it and fled the room.

 

"Well," Sasha said, his voice shaking. "I'm glad he has a new favourite word anyway."

"You didn't have to do that," Zeke said.

Sasha's shoulders, recently so determined, were slumping. "It was the right thing to do," he said. "Unfortunately, doing the right thing doesn't always get you the right results."

Zeke couldn't take his eyes off the brown stuff dripping down the wall. Casey's distress all through the day hadn't been any less obvious than that mess, but Zeke had chosen not to see it. Or he had seen it but chosen to ignore what it was really about. It wasn't just about Roy. It was about him too.

Zeke pushed back his chair and stood. "Am I allowed to talk to him?"

"Of course. He's sure as hell not going to talk to me right now."

Zeke laughed bitterly. "Because I'm so trustworthy."

"You are trustworthy."

"Sure, except when I'm not."

"Zeke..."

"I made him read the letter, you know. He didn't want to and I forced him. We could have thrown it in the garbage and been better off."

Sasha was going to the kitchen, no doubt for something to wipe up the mess. The guy never could leave a mess alone for long. "For what it's worth," he said. "I think it will turn out to be for the best. You have to have the chaos to get to the normal. Sooner or later things have to get normal."

"Right," Zeke said. Lovely sentiment. Sounds like something I would tell myself. Too bad it wasn't actually the reason that I made him read the letter.

He expected Casey to be in the bathroom, but it was the bedroom that he had retreated to this time. He was lying with his back to the door, but rolled over quickly when the door opened and was on his feet in a hurry, like he needed to be ready to make an escape. Rather typically, he ended up in the corner with his back to the wall. He looked like something wild, not exactly prepared to tear Zeke's throat out but capable of it nonetheless. Zeke left the door ajar and went around to sit gingerly on the bed, facing Casey. With Casey hemmed in as he was, it was the best Zeke could do to give him an exit.

"Casey — "

Casey folded slightly, his knees almost buckling, but it looked like at the last second he was able to keep on his feet. "So sorry," he said, his voice flat as he braced himself in the corner. "Sorry for everything I've done to you."

"Casey, wouldn't it feel better if you just talked about some things?"

It came out in a gulp: "No."

"I know it isn't easy, but when it's over...I know it will be better."

The tone changed to something ugly. "I said no...stop asking me! I can say no to you, can't I!?"

"Of course, but I can still ask."

"You want to know what happened, I met him in the hotel and I fucked him. Like the other times."

"And what else?"

"Nothing else."

"So he left you there and that's the whole story."

"Yes."

"I don't believe you. I don't think you believe you."

"That's...what h-happened...a — a s-slut got fucked."

"Casey," Zeke said. If only he had never used that word in Casey's presence. If only he had bit out his tongue or jabbed himself with a cattle prod first.

"It was wild..." Casey went on, almost to himself. He rocked against the wall, while a whole series of words got lost in breathless mutters. The next thing Zeke could actually hear was along the lines of "...got a little crazy but then...then he had to leave."

Zeke moved, thinking to touch, to offer something.

Casey's eyes snapped in his direction. For a few moments he looked frantic – and then there was a slow smile. It gave a sickly curve to his lips. He advanced on Zeke, saying, "Don't have to tell you...when I could show you."

His body slipped between Zeke's knees, between his thighs and against his torso, while Zeke remained seated on the bed. Fingers crept up Zeke's arms, crawling over the skin at his neck. Zeke froze, holding himself still. He wanted to leap up and fling Casey off. Or seize him and fuck him into oblivion. He couldn't move away and he couldn't move forward. It was a very tidy little trap he had built for himself here.

"Casey," Zeke wept aloud. "I can't, Casey —"

"You said...you told me."

"But I can't."

Casey was in his lap now, breath trickling up his neck. His hand stroked Zeke's arm, toyed with the hem of his sleeve. "You can," whispered the voice of the siren. "You can touch me...fuck me so good like you always do...or do it like last night. I'll make up for everything I've done to you, I'll make you feel so good."

Zeke's mouth was kissed so very softly, like a moth's wings fluttering against his face.

He grabbed onto the creature's arms and stood up all at once, forcing him back but maintaining a secure grip on him, keeping him in place. Two perfectly round eyes stared at him in confusion, barely seeing who was in front of them.

"Say my name," Zeke demanded.

The expression of distracted horror dawning in those eyes told him everything that he feared: All the time that he thought he was having sex with Casey, Casey was not having sex with him. He shook the creature he was holding, compelled by the same possessive rage that he had only known once before in his life.

"Who am I, Casey? Who am I?"

Casey's mouth was shaken open but nothing came out but a choked sound, followed by silence.

"It's Zeke," he wept. "I'm...not..."

He didn't mean to throw Casey down. He didn't, exactly. He just let go of him and Casey ended up on the floor. The sound of it was unexpectedly, terribly loud. He stared down at Casey for a second, on the verge of spilling out some kind of apology but there didn't seem to be anything that he was actually entitled to say at this moment.

He passed Sasha on his way to the front door. "Zeke — where are you going?"

"Out," he said. "Need to...get out."

The next hour was a blur of sidewalk. He might have walked longer before turning around, but he ran into someone who chewed him out for not looking where he was going and the raging steam engine of his thoughts was derailed. He found himself blocks away, with no memory of anything from the moment he heard the thud of Casey's body on the bedroom floor.

He stood there in the middle of the sidewalk, having several realizations.

It was ridiculous of him to go running off into the night like some weepy princess because he got hurt. He had been hurt plenty before this and yeah, this one was a motherfucker but that didn't make it right to abandon Casey. He had made a promise and he was going to keep it, even if he and Casey weren't meant to be together after all. If nothing else, Casey was his friend.

No way was Roy going to do this to his friend. No way was Roy going to get away with this.

And last night had been Zeke and Casey, not Roy and Casey. Zeke didn't truly know it but he did believe it. He had to fall back on that because the evidence really went both ways. Casey hadn't said a single coherent word the entire time Zeke was pounding into him, but before that when Casey had pushed him down on the bed and straddled him...that was not about Roy. And when Zeke was holding Casey and stretching him, getting him ready, Casey had said something. He had said Zeke. Several times. And after, when Casey asked him if it was okay, he was not talking to Roy. He was talking to the man who was his lover, and he was looking at him, seeing him. Everything else from the last twenty-four hours might have been a lie, but that was real, because it had to be.

He turned around and started home at a run, adrenalin-charged.

No fucking way...no fucking way. He was with me last night, not you. Not you, and you know it. Fuck you. He's mine.

A block or so later he realized something else. He needed to quit smoking. He slowed to a walk until he could catch his breath, breaking into a run whenever he felt like his lungs could sustain it. He had Casey's face in front of him now, from the moment when he had let him go. It spurred him forward, with or without oxygen.

He was wheezing when he reached their building. He took the stairs three at a time. The door flew open and slammed into the wall.

"Casey!" he called out.

It was Sasha who answered his summons. "Shut up!" he hissed.

"Sasha — "

"Keep your voice down. If I didn't know it would do more harm than good, I'd kick you out that door right now."

"Sasha, I — "

"You wanted to know what I look like angry? This is it."

"I fucked up, I know."

"'Fucked up?'" Sasha repeated incredulously. "Fucking up is when you forget someone's birthday. Fucking up is when you oversleep and miss work. What you did was unbelievably fucking stupid and — and — if you ever want to redeem yourself you'll go in your room and not show your face until tomorrow at the absolute earliest. In fact, make it next week."

"You know that's not going to work."

A vein pulsed in Sasha's forehead.

"I'll do as I'm told," Zeke appealed to him. "Just tell me he's okay."

"He's not okay, you shit...but he is asleep, unless you woke him up just now."

"Where — ?"

"In my bed, where he's going to stay for the time being."

Sasha spun and walked away from him, returning to his bedroom.

Zeke didn't dare follow. For lack of anything else to do, he went to the kitchen and washed the dirty cups and glasses from earlier that evening with Stokely. He was just emptying and rinsing out the sink when he found Sasha standing nearby, leaning up against the wall.

"He thought you left him," Sasha said, hard-eyed.

Zeke was now compelled to explain himself. He started, "He was doing that routine from before saying all sorts of crazy things and —" He found that he was losing control and he really hadn't expected that. He hated that he was making excuses, that he had fallen that low. He let go of the cloth and clung to the edge of the sink, fighting tears. "I thought every time he was with me, in his mind he was still with — him. I thought — he made me into — I tried and tried not to be Roy but I still was."

Sobs bubbling up in his throat and he gave up on trying to hold them back. He was standing with wet, soapy hands, crying over the sink.

"I know — I shouldn't — have left — " he gasped.

"No," he heard Sasha agree. "You shouldn't have." But there was a warm hand on his arm. The hand moved up and down a few times, like maybe he deserved to be comforted a little, and then was gone.

He sighed, using his shudders to shake out some of the feelings that were crowding him. Grief, hurt, anger, guilt, fear...oh, yes, when he had a breakdown, he liked to embrace as many emotional states as he could at one time. "Is this fixable?"

"I don't know."

His throat ached fiercely. The tears were threatening to come out of their corner for another round.

"Not because of what you've done, Zeke. It's just that it's pretty much up to Casey what happens next."

"Do you think he'll talk to me?"

"What do you think?"

Zeke finally moved from the sink, wiping his hands. He leaned on the counter, avoiding Sasha's eyes. He wanted to go see Casey now even if he was asleep, but he didn't think he should be permitted to. He was a menace.

"Zeke. You've gotta know there's a big difference between you and Roy."

"Yeah, like what?"

"You care, for one thing. When you hurt someone you're actually sorry for it. You're not cruel, and you've got more commitment and patience in one eyelash than Roy will ever have."

Patient was certainly not a word that had ever been applied to him before. In fact, the most frequent accusation he heard from people he had known for more than a day was that he was the exact opposite of patient. Either he had changed, or they had all been dead wrong.

Smiling to himself, he said, "I do, don't I?"

"Yes, and you've never suffered from a lack of self-esteem, so don't start now."

The smile faded from his face. "Sasha, it makes me crazy that I could do everything right and he can still look at me and see that prick. It's not fair."

"No," Sasha agreed. "It's not. But it won't always be like this. God, it hasn't even been two months." At Zeke's look, Sasha flinched and admitted, "I panicked a bit when I read Roy's letter. I thought about not being here almost every night and...how badly I screwed up before and...well, I guess I pushed a bit hard."

"Excuse me? I want to get a tape recorder for this."

"Don't be trying to get me to laugh. I'm still pissed at you."

Zeke made a pretense of reacting, letting his body tense — but then it just surrendered on him and he couldn't think past wanting to see Casey, to just lie down next to him. He had no plan beyond that, and he supposed he would need one but he was drawing a big blank. It had been one fuck of a long day. Not all bad but mostly not good. See, no denial.

"So why aren't you in there?" Sasha asked.

He looked up in surprise. "I didn't think you'd let me."

Sasha shook his head, sighing. "Go," was all he said.

The door to Sasha's room was wide open. Inside it was dark save for a grainy light from the hall that gently illuminated Casey's face. He was nearly buried in the bedcovers but what Zeke could see was artificially relaxed, with only the remnants of salt trails down the cheeks to indicate the previous turmoil. Zeke crawled onto the bed and tucked himself behind Casey. Reaching around, he took Casey's curled hand and held it, resting his forehead against Casey's shoulder. He lay there, soaking up Casey's warmth, listening to him breathe until his own eyelids got heavy and he went under, waking briefly when Sasha covered him with something.

He woke again, this time in the middle of the night. The clock showed 3:42 a.m. Bizarrely, he was in Sasha's bed, and there a long, blanket-covered lump across from him. So he was sleeping with Sasha now, and — there was supposed to be another lump, there was supposed to be three lumps but there were only two...Casey was missing.

Then he heard Casey's voice. It was coming from the living room, floating easily through an otherwise silent apartment to Zeke's ears.

"I'm in Seattle."

A pause.

"Yes, I got your letter."

 

The story had found its tragic demise but the film was still running. Things were happening that he couldn't accept and couldn't stop no matter how he screamed and raged and tried to beat down the appearance of reality. It didn't work; the pictures were still unfolding in front of his eyes were mere coloured light and sound projected on a flat surface. They should be stoppable, they should be stopped — but here they were playing out despite his numb resistence, still shaping characters that spoke and acted and reacted. There was some footage of Zeke's eyes, his eyes were filled with betrayal and he had Casey by the arms trying to shake something truthful out of him. When Zeke didn't get what he needed, when he realized that he was wasting himself on something entirely insubstantial and nonexistent, he let Casey fall on the floor and walked out.

Sasha appeared to perform his usual role in the drama. Casey heard him say, "Kitten, where...? Why are you on the floor?"

Now it was all jumbled; there was the part where Zeke was leaving while Casey plummeted, there was the jarring feeling of impact with the floor. There was Zeke leaving. Then there was Casey, huddled down and sure that he was going to die. He couldn't get any air. His heart and lungs had simply stopped working. Then there was Sasha, trying to keep him together while he came apart. It was nice of Sasha to do that, considering.

At last the film broke, melted. The celluloid shapes around him dissolved, colours bleeding into a monochrome nothing where he would be happy to stay forever. If only he could disappear into that void and not come back.

In the next segment, the void had kicked him out and he was back where he had been. Sasha had tugged him onto the bed and was trying to hold and comfort him while he was laid out in a very strange pose, one leg in and the other out, hands curled near his chest. He was half-lying against Sasha's chest, his head against Sasha's upper arm. "...don't like this don't like this, Casey...Snap out of it, please...please, for me? Here...if I can...just..."

Casey's leg twitched; he moved his head, lifting it.

"Kitten?" There was something on his back...Sasha's hand moving up and down, rubbing. He couldn't feel the warmth of that hand or the friction it was making. He had never been so cold. "I know you're back, say something."

"S-Sasha," he mumbled.

Sasha made a sound that was an odd cross between a laugh and a sob. "That works for me."

There was a ring of pressure around Casey's shoulders now, and he was swaying as Sasha rocked him. A shower would be nice, he thought. He should ask, but his lips and tongue didn't really work all that well.

Sasha knew, though. He understood. "You're freezing, kitten. Come on, let's get you into the shower."

Casey blanked out a little bit more but he must have walked and gotten into the tub as per usual. He came back as Sasha was wrapping a towel around him and telling him to finish. Obediently, he dried himself and put on the clothing — jersey and sweater and socks and sweatpants — that Sasha had brought him.

All of it was perfectly routine. The thing you feared most could happen and the fear would feel exactly the same as before, it would feel the same as when it hadn't happened and you were just constantly afraid of it happening. The worst could come to pass and you'd still be doing what you always did.

He let Sasha guide him out of the bathroom and down the hall into — but it was the other bedroom, not — not his and Zeke's. No longer his and Zeke's because Zeke had let him go. Zeke left...He had promised, but he left...and he could hardly be blamed for that.

"Oh, no," Sasha scolded, upon seeing that he had re-booted the panic program. "No more of that, please."

Sasha went to the other room and came back with the precious Xanax bottle. With his help, Casey took one of his magic pills and got under all the covers, pulling them up to his chin. He was almost warm now despite his damp hair and a few residual shivers now and then.

There was a weight settling beside him. Sasha, stroking his hair, looking at him full-on. Sasha's eyes were red and puffy. He looked a lot older than he usually did. "Don't cry, kitten," he said.

Okay, but he wasn't crying. His face was wet but he wasn't crying. "Sasha...don't hate you," he whispered.

"I know."

"I don't — I'm — sorry —"

"Shh. I have to apologize to you, kitten. I shouldn't have pushed so hard. I was afraid that it was all going to happen again, that...I was going to let it happen like before."

But it did. It is.

"You don't know how terrible...how guilty I feel about that. I let it go on and on...I should have done something. Hell, I should have done something that very first day when I found you asleep on Roy's couch. You seemed so young...you were so young. I think I got all caught up in the gay myth of the beautiful boy and his mentor, and I never imagined that Roy — well, no excuses. I'm just sorry."

Casey struggled to speak, to say something for Sasha. His mind was empty of everything but two words, one thought.

"This isn't like before, Casey."

"He left."

"He just went for a walk, kitten, he'll be back."

He didn't want to take Sasha's hope away, so he didn't try to contradict him.

The Xanax seemed to be working quickly this time; soon, he could barely keep his eyes open. He fell gratefully into a fresh pit of silence.

It was dark when his eyes were open again. Apparently he could no longer sleep through the night like a grown-up person, even though he was so, so tired. It was comfortable where he was, though. He was snug against a warm body that was all along his backside, an arm thrown over him while another was lying in front of him like a sentinel. He should be able to sleep again —

— but this was Sasha right in front of him. That meant that the weight behind Casey was Zeke. Zeke had let him go and yet he was here.

Casey tried to understand what that meant. When Zeke left the room earlier, there was no doubt in either of their minds what was happening. Casey had betrayed Zeke. He had done terrible things to him. He had damaged him, and Zeke was not the kind of person who stuck around to be damaged. Zeke had limits. But here he was now sleeping close to Casey, holding him as thought nothing had happened. Maybe it didn't mean what Casey thought it meant, but...the possessive arm around him said that Zeke had willingly submitted himself for fresh abuse.

And he'd get it. Casey had tried so hard yesterday but he just made it worse; if he kept trying and he had to, pretty soon he'd break Zeke altogether. And Sasha along with him. Sasha needed to have a life, to go on a date, to go to work and not have to fret about things. But there was no way to stop it. Casey's presence simply made it happen. The monster did have a name; it was Casey Connor and Roy wasn't wrong about that. That was what Roy knew about him. Roy knew because Casey had damaged him too, made him miserable...obsessed...hated myself...but it isn't your fault, you can't help being that way, baby. You may be a monster but you're mine.

Zeke shifted a bit, his arm tightening like a band around Casey's chest.

One thing that Casey knew: Zeke didn't like to share. And it was one thing Zeke and Roy had in common. Casey could see demand and hunger in Zeke's eyes every time he looked at Casey, and Casey didn't mind it, not at all. It was a kind of promise — but Roy had broken his promise in the end. When things got a little crazy and Roy walked out. Casey's last memory of Roy was his back as he exited the hotel room. He had been wearing a white linen shirt, Casey remembered, and the back of his hair was mussed and sticking up a little. He couldn't remember what he had been thinking at that moment. Not very much, he supposed, except that he knew Roy wasn't coming back. Roy didn't come back either — but Zeke did.

Casey kept getting them mixed up even though he knew it hurt Zeke terribly. And he knew that last night it had been Zeke who touched him, Zeke who fucked him. It was Zeke who kept forgiving him, who took care of him. Casey wasn't confused on that point. Most of the time.

The letter, Casey needed to read the letter again because there was a Roy in there who felt so very different from Zeke. Maybe if he read it enough times he could convince himself and convince Sasha so he wouldn't hurt Zeke any more and there would be no damage and Zeke would never, ever have to leave him. Or he would read it and remember that there was no fix for him because he was what he was, a monster, something that hurt people and made them react to him as people react to a monster which was why being with Zeke and being with Roy were one and the same.

It took him a long time to extricate himself from Zeke's grip. He had to do it in stages, like he was just moving in his sleep, hoping that Zeke wouldn't sense his withdrawal and wake up. Once that was accomplished, there was the whole problem of getting out of the bed; between Zeke and Sasha he was pretty well pinned under the covers so he was forced to slide all the way up against the wall to extract his body. Several times he thought one or both of them was waking, and froze in place until they were still again. From there it was a matter of creeping down the fissure between their two bodies to the end of the bed. He couldn't quite believe he had managed it.

The rest was easy. He padded soundlessly to the bedroom where the letter had been left, then took it to the living room. He sat down in a corner of the couch, the one nearest the lamp, switching it on so he could see.

The pages were battered and crumpled now. Casey unfolded them carefully.

He didn't get past things got a little crazy the last time we were together, didn't they...

He pulled his feet up and hugged his arms around his chest. Things got a little crazy the last time we were together, didn't they... He knew that Sasha had read that part aloud earlier but he had managed not to hear it. He remembered reading it last night, though. He remembered how the words jangled around in his head for a while before he could force himself to go on.

A little crazy. Things got a little crazy.

Something was about to be born from him. He could feel It. He recognized It. It was like needing to throw up and dying and going crazy all at the same time. It was the beast fighting its way out of him while he was still trying to hold it back, even though he knew now that he couldn't. He couldn't anymore.

He sat there like that, trembling. He knew what he had to do.

The phone was resting on top of the television; it took him a while to find it. Taking it, he sat down again. Then he had to sit and sit with the phone in his hands before he could make himself dial.

It rang six times and he was about to hang up when a sleep-clogged, very familiar voice answered, "Hello?"

His hand was shaking. His voice, if he spoke, would be shaking. He didn't think he could speak. He couldn't think of what he had wanted to say.

"Hello?" Roy said again, more clearly.

"It's...Casey."

He heard an indrawn breath. "Casey?! Just a second....Oh, god, baby, where are you calling from? I don't recognize the area code off the top of my head but – god, I'm glad you called."

There was a long pause while Casey tried to form words.

"Hello? Are you there, baby?"

"Yeah..." he said.

"You have no idea how much I'm loving the sound of you right now, baby. Tell me where you are, I'll come and get you. Doesn't matter where, you could be in Siberia or —"

"I'm in Seattle."

"Seattle? How did you get there — ? Well, you can tell me later. I take it you got my letter?"

"Yes, I got your letter."

"I'm so glad, Casey, I was really afraid you would never get it and I had so many things I needed to say. Mind you, I wasn't expecting you to phone me in the middle of the night, but that's okay."

"I want to tell you something."

"Sure, baby, you can tell me anything."

He couldn't think. He had practised several speeches before he dialled and they were all gone.

"Oh, Casey..." Roy said. "I've missed —"

"Why?" Summoning that one word was physically the most difficult thing he had ever done, but once he did, everything behind it started to erupt.

"Why? Why what?"

It was unstoppable now. He had to know.

"Why...?" he demanded. "...the hotel...and why her?"

"Baby, I'm really sorry about that. I did try to explain everything, but I probably didn't do too well. It was wrong of me, and stupid —"

"It wasn't supposed to be her."

"I know, I should never have —"

"Why did you do it? I said 'not her.' I said that."

"I'm sorry —"

"I said 'not her.' It wasn't supposed to be her."

"I'm not understanding you now, Casey."

"She didn't get me the first time but you set me up, you brought me to her."

"Casey —"

"That wasn't right. Maybe — I would give you — you said no limits between us but just between us! Not her!"

"Casey, it sounds to me like you're confused again. Where are you calling from? Is there anyone with you? I'm worried about you —"

"Weren't you worried after you left me alone in that hotel room?" Casey broke in. "Did you wonder what happened to me then?"

Roy didn't answer immediately. Then: "Yes, I did. I did wonder and I was worried."

"But you left me. You left me alone."

"And I regret that, you have no idea —"

"You left me alone," Casey accused. "Over and over."

"I know what I did, Casey! I said I was sorry but it sounds like you don't want to forgive me. Is that what you're saying? Why are you calling?"

Roy's voice had risen in volume to a near-shout and Casey was trembling so much that he could barely hold on to the phone. "I — wanted to know — how you could do it," he blurted.

"Do what?"

"You let her — you were supposed to take care of me, you were right there and you didn't do anything! You didn't stop it —"

"Okay, Casey. Obviously you didn't call because you wanted to make any kind of rational sense. I really thought you might have gotten your head sorted out the next time I heard from you but I guess not."

Casey had closed his eyes. The monster was not Roy, see, but it did dance to his tune that was oh, baby, you're such a mess life's really done a number on you hasn't it do you know how crazy you are right now you sad, pathetic, delusional...

"Are you finished then?" Roy snapped.

Casey whispered, "Good-bye."

"What —? I can't hear you."

"I said..." he returned, louder now. "I don't want to see you again."

"I'm sorry it turned out this way, Casey —"

"Don't want to be with you."

"— I really hoped —"

"Leave me alone!" he shouted into the phone. "Leave me!"

"God, you really are a fucking lunatic! You call me in the middle of the night and — and — you want me to leave you alone? Fine! Consider yourself alone!"

Casey heard the crash of Roy hanging up and the dial tone and the monster burst out of him finally and completely, tearing him apart as it went.

"Motherfucker!" he screamed, and he smashed the phone against the end table as hard as he could. "Fuck you! Fuck! You!" He kept the beat with his expletives, bringing down the phone on the table again, and again, and again — until it shattered, ejecting bits of plastic and metal. "Fuck —!"

He looked around for something else to grab onto and couldn't see anything immediately, so he had to settle for taking the carcass and throwing it on the coffee table as hard as he could. Then he grabbed the letter and tore it, ripped it again and again until it resembled nothing but confetti. He threw the pieces. They didn't really fall in a satisfying manner, drifting gently onto the carpet. Fuck Newton and his fucking laws. He hated them, he hated...He was going to die from this feeling inside him. He had to destroy it before it destroyed him except it was way too late, it was loosed now, it was everything up to and including I know you I'd take care of you so sorry I didn't before but her demands had to come first we know that don't we, baby, you can't have me without her and you can't be alone you won't survive so you'll be with her I'll give you to her you just have to surrender you don't say no and you do surrender you give up the last bit of yourself to her...Only she spits you out and leaves you cold and alone again like all the other times except this time you've been turned inside out, emptied, there's a stain on the sheets and that's you, all that's left of you.

Quiet words intruded on his diatribe: "I think we need a new phone."

That was when he realized that Zeke and Sasha were in the room with him. They were standing almost out of range of the light thrown by the lamp, and by their expressions, they had to be looking at something terrible.


	13. Chapter 13

Daylight arrived in Sasha's room at a ragged crawl, falling upon a chaste threesome that was just barely contained by the bed. Chemicals held Casey in a firm embrace and Sasha seemed to be completely asleep as well, as though Casey's drugged breaths had a sedative power over him. For his part, Zeke had been gritty-eyed awake for the past few hours, keeping guard at one side of Casey, occasionally surrendering to the impulse to touch him but mostly just watching with scant illumination from outside the window. Street light, and there may have been some moonlight helping out, too; Zeke wasn't sure. Now, in the brighter light of day, he was reproaching himself for not having devised some sort of practical strategy instead of spending those hours in a voyeuristic stupour.

Not that he could have done anything to stop himself. He didn't particularly want to, for starters. The more time he spent learning Casey's face, the more fascinatingly alien it became, an assemblage of crooked paths and shadows. The shapes that he observed lost meaning and began to render something foreign where a moment ago there had been something known.

He heard a small, querulous exhalation from someone else in the room. Tearing his attention from Casey's face, he saw that Sasha was awake, and his eyebrows were getting a vigourous morning workout. Without making a sound, Sasha was strongly suggesting to Zeke that it was time to get up, that Zeke was not to miss another day of class as Casey was in very capable arms and wouldn't wake up any time soon, that there was no reason why all normalcy had to cease just because Casey went on a rampage in their living room last night.

When Zeke glared back that he didn't want to leave the bed or the room, and never mind fucking school, Sasha literally kicked him out. It was a gentle kick that didn't disturb the bed's other occupant, but Zeke got the message. Stumbling out of bed, he showered and shaved and dressed, all of which went a long way towards his feeling less like crap.

Somewhat revived, he stuck his head back in Sasha's room and verified that Sasha was asleep once more, or at least cultivating the appearance of sleep for Zeke's benefit. Casey looked like he hadn't even shifted position, his face lax and empty, and once more familiar. Zeke fetched his backpack and let himself out quietly.

The unseasonably warm weather of yesterday had given way to grey and damp once more, and an unexpected chill in the air that made him want to turn around and head back to bed. Without engaging much of his mental energy, he made the decision to just drop in at Wellth instead of heading to the bus stop. There was no way, just no way he could do it this morning; he could not tolerate lectures on the New Deal, the Post-War Settlement and Plato, nor the inane questions that would inevitably surround them. Now, if the university were willing to hold the lecture on his roof, that would be different. That, he could have managed to attend, with Casey less than a minute away.

He stepped just inside the store and scanned for Stokely. There were a handful of die-hards browsing for new detoxifying formulas and metabolic boosters and whatever else they might require at this hour of the day, but no one behind the cash register right then. He went on a hunt and found Stokely in the bulk foods aisle. She was squatting, sweeping up the spillage from a bin of coarse, brownish flour. He could see immediately that she was not in a terribly balanced state of mind or body. When she glanced up and found him standing, she quickly constructed a facade of brightness over her actual face. "Hey," she said, straightening up.

"Hey, Stokes."

He paused, trying to decide what he wanted to say. There was a redness around Stokely's eyes. She shifted her weight, looking uncomfortable and decidedly hungover.

"I..." Zeke performed a visual scan for any audience. Finding no one within range, he continued, "I wanted to see how you — how you are."

Stokely rubbed her forehead. "I could use a coffee break."

"First alcohol, now coffee?"

"You can just bite me. I thought it would be easier than saying let's go grab a soy-milk low-fat chai latte and a whole-wheat bagel."

He gestured for peace. "Fine, sorry..."

"No," Stokely sighed. "It's me. I'm bitchy this morning."

"`s okay. Let's do soy latte, then."

"Don't you have class or something?"

He shrugged. "Or something."

Stokely raised her brows and scolded, "Bad boy. Very bad." She called out, "Tara, I'm going on a break, okay?"

"Okay!" came from somewhere in the store.

They went across the street to Zorba's, where they had taken Casey's parents for breakfast on Saturday morning. Two days ago that was. Only two days, and here was one fuck of a good paper for Casey to write if he ever returned to his physics degree: On the Nature of General Relativity in Times of Crisis, or How Two Days Can Feel Like Two Years.

Zeke fetched himself a cup of the "Alaskan" blend and a muffin, and he paid for Stokely's chai and bagel as well, conscious that she was going to be in financial distress soon. They sought a table near a window, where Zeke could view the people passing by outside. He wondered what sort of dramas they were enduring in their homes, what things were going on in their lives that you would never know from their faces. They could be dealing with loved ones who were sick and hurting. They could actually be falling apart without anyone noticing.

"So how's it hanging, Stokes?" he asked.

"You're hilarious. My head is frigging killing me, feels like someone drove a nail right in between my eyes." Stokely took a sip of her chai. "Ahhh... that's better."

"I've been there."

"I'll bet you haven't. I'll bet you've never felt quite this rotten."

"If you say so," he conceded, amused.

"Well, my consolation is I've learned my lesson and I remember why I gave up alcohol." Stokely was twisting her napkin in her hands. "I'm sorry about that whole scene last night, too. I didn't want to — I didn't want my problems to be your problems. Or Casey's."

"Don't sweat it." Zeke wanted a cigarette badly; he glanced around for a sign of prohibition, hand creeping towards his shirt pocket.

"No smoking in here, Zeke."

He felt a little bit caught and he resented it. He should probably consider that a warning sign; as much as he currently enjoyed his habit, he certainly didn't want to end up a forty-year-old addict with yellow teeth and a lung-shattering cough. He wasn't there yet, but it did occur to him that lately a pack didn't seem to be going as far.

Stokely was thinking along the same lines. "Maybe it's time to quit those."

He shook his head. "Definitely not a good time."

"Why not? You can't wait until there's no stress in your life, by then you'll be dead of cancer."

"Why, what an uplifting thought. Thank you."

"I just mean that if you're really and truly committed —"

"Stokes, spare me the twelve-step. I need more patience right now, not less ."

"Why? You afraid you'll snap and start beating up on Casey?"

"Of course not," he shot back.

But he saw himself as he had been last night with Casey hanging in his grip. He had an unambiguous memory of bone under his fingers as his hands pressed into Casey's arms. There would be bruises — and worse than that, he remembered wanting to squeeze harder, to shake Casey until he tumbled all the crazy thoughts out of his head. He remembered dropping him, or maybe he had actually pushed him down. He couldn't be sure.

"Zeke? You okay?"

The question had him right on the brink of some sort of outburst that he really didn't want to have. "Not entirely," he managed.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I thought we came here so you could tell me how you were."

"You know how I am, Zeke. Break-ups suck. Listening to you talk about your stuff will take my mind off my stuff."

He was always doing this to her, though. Probably because she knew a lot of the important facts about him and Casey, not the least of which was a certain life-changing episode that she had faced with them — but it wasn't fair and it was more self-indulgent than Zeke liked to consider himself. She was his friend and she had problems of her own that deserved airtime.

"What was going on with you and Sasha last night?" she asked, trying to give him an in. "I've never seen him so cranky."

"Stokes," he sighed. "It'll take hours to explain."

"So give me the Readers' Digest version."

"A lot of it is private."

"Just tell me what you can."

He stalled for time, slurping his coffee.

Stokely grinned at him, batting her eyelashes. "Well, it's up to you of course, but just so you know, I've been dying of curiosity here. I hope you noticed how hard I've been working at not being nosy."

He decided that it would be the appropriate to reward her good-humoured determination. "Yeah, I noticed. Okay, I'll tell you some of it — but you really do have to keep it to yourself."

"Who would I tell?"

"And you'll have to ask Casey if you want specifics."

"Deal — okay, now spill."

How did he get from summer in their boring old hometown to this? It was a blur, but he knew that the core of it was between himself and Casey, and would not be talked about to anyone, today or ever. He would give her an abridged account of events — but he was not going to tell her all the nasty details of his sex life. That simply wasn't going to happen. Twenty-two year-old guys did not share that stuff with their girl pals.

"I think you've heard Sasha mention an ex of Casey's?" he began.

Stokely settled in to listen, wrapping her hands around her cup and returning Zeke's gaze with concentration. "Roy."

"Yeah, Roy. Casey met him not long after he went off to school. They were together for almost two years and he ditched Casey just before Casey came home for the summer."

"I kinda knew this part. The ex-boyfriend who fucked with Casey's head."

"Yes and no. I mean, yes, Roy is a prick and I would pay big bucks for a chance to beat the shit out of him, but...I wouldn't put all the blame on him."

Stokely reared back a little. "I'm amazed you can say that."

"Stokes, when I ran into Casey in June he was shut up in his room, he hadn't gotten out of bed or changed his clothes or brushed his teeth or talked for a really friggin' long time. That wasn't just because his boyfriend jerked him around and dumped him."

"You don't have to tell me, Zeke, I've known Casey since kindergarten. I'm just impressed that you want to give Roy any get-out-of-jail-free cards."

"Don't get me wrong, I still hate his fucking guts, but...I guess I just have a vested interest in being the devil's advocate."

Again Zeke heard Casey hitting the floor last night. That had been right before Zeke violated his promise to Casey, a promise that also happened to be the only real one he had ever made. Fuck, how he wanted a cigarette — but it was probably just as well that it was illegal. Stokes would see how his hands shook, and better to keep that under the table.

"Hey, Zeke? Guilt is just so not you."

He flicked a glance at Stokely.

"When it comes right down to it," Stokely continued, "I think that Casey would have been this way without ever meeting a Zeke or a Roy or even a Mary Beth. He was always by himself, always looking for someone to latch onto but no one let him — and thatincludes me, by the way. I could blame myself for refusing to play Lego with him when we were in second grade."

"You refused to play Lego with him?"

"I had my own issues, Zeke. So why don't we just agree that he was born with certain wires and was unlucky enough to go to a high school that got invaded by aliens?"

"You know...you're a lot wiser than I realized," Zeke said, not entirely teasing.

Stokely turned bright pink and retorted, "I don't know shit. All I know is nothing is simple...Um, so Roy fucked with Casey and then dumped him and he came home for the summer — right? And then you came into the picture."

"That was around the time that I decided I didn't want to marry Delilah — "

"— which was so totally right — "

"— and I wanted to see Casey. I envisioned him with this amazing life that I thought I could have too. I had only seen him a few times since high school and he just seemed so..."

Stokely smiled knowingly. "What?"

"You know," he replied. He was probably the same shade of pink Stokely had been a moment ago. He fiddled with his muffin, reducing it to bready crumbles.

"No," Stokely drawled. "I don't."

He made himself look at her and not smack the smarmy grin right off her face. "Do me a favour and fuck off."

"Nope, not until I hear you describe Casey. In your own words."

"He was different, but in a good way. Happy?"

Rolling her eyes, Stokely said, "That the best you can do?"

"Uh-huh."

"Zeke — "

"No, Stokes."

"Oh, fine," Stokely pouted. She shrugged, and busied herself washing down a bite of bagel with her chai tea. "Sorry. I'm just such a sap, I wanted to hear you being all gushy and romantic — but I forgot one very important thing."

"What's that?"

"You're not me."

"I don't know, I've been feeling pretty gushy lately."

"Oh, please. Zeke Tyler doesn't gush. He expounds...or maybe if it's something really good, he enthuses."

"I've been known to rhapsodize," Zeke offered.

Stokely rolled her eyes. "Get on with the story, would you?"

"All right...so I went to his parents' house back in June and that was where it all started. He was in a terrible state and it just got worse. I thought he was getting help. He lied to me and said he was getting help and I let it go."

"But you were kinda having your own crisis, weren't you?"

"I know, I was totally wrapped up in it and I didn't see what was going on. Remember how we talked and I said I wasn't sure if I wanted him to come with me to Seattle? It turned out he knew. I didn't tell him but he figured it out. So Roy and I both jerked him around...and everything just sort of came to a head. He hadn't been eating and he had some sort of accident at home and burned himself. I had to take him to emergency, and that was how he ended up in that hospital."

"Zeke...I'm sure it was the right decision."

"There was nothing to decide," he said, feeling uncomfortable. Maybe he was violating Casey's trust by telling these things to Stokely. Maybe he should quit before he gave away too much. He checked his watch and suggested, "This is a pretty long break you're taking."

Stokely easily deflected his attempt to ditch the conversation. "They're flexible as long as we don't abuse it. Come on, I want to hear the rest."

"That's it. Casey decided to come to Seattle with me, so right or wrong, here he is."

"But...what was going on last night?"

"Long story short, Casey's parents brought him his mail this weekend, and it included a letter from Roy. We all read it, and Sasha got all worked up and wanted Casey to talk about some things that went on between him and Roy. I figure Casey will talk when he's ready — or maybe he won't but either way there's no point in pushing him. But of course Sasha just wouldn't leave it alone."

"Ah."

"So after you left last night there was — for lack of a better word I'll say Casey and Sasha had a fight. And then Casey and I had a fight, and I had a fight with Sasha...it was your basic disaster. Then..." He cleared his throat, hesitating just for a moment before plunging on. "Then I woke up in the middle of the night and I heard Casey on the phone, talking to Roy."

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah, I felt like..."

Zeke's tongue failed him. He couldn't comprehend what he had felt, he couldn't believe that it was even possible for him. It contradicted everything he believed about human emotions and the universe in general. It was not some over-the-top sentiment — it was just the messy, enormous reality. Logic could define it but gave him no rescue.

"You felt like...?" Stokely cued him.

Like I would die.

He couldn't speak those words, but Stokely's hand was now lying warm and friendly upon his, just long enough to let him know she cared and then it was gone.

"So you heard Casey on the phone..."

"I was pathetic, Stokes. I jumped out of bed — " Jumped out of Sasha's bed, tripped over the unfamiliar layout to the room and his own feet "— and ran to the living room. I don't know what I was thinking but maybe I wanted to grab the phone and yell at Casey and tell Roy I would kill him if he ever showed his face again...But I actually froze. I was completely fucking numb."

"Understandable."

"Yeah, but...Casey could have been giving Roy flight information and I wouldn't have been able to stop him. I was just useless."

"What was he saying, though?"

"He took me by surprise, that's for sure. I thought — I don't know what I thought. I certainly didn't expect him to be tearing a strip off Roy."

"Oh, my," Stokely said. "But that's good, right?"

"Yeah, it's good..."

"But what?"

Zeke looked out the window at the windows above the store. "Oh, Stokes...He could hardly talk, it was painful to hear...and he blurted out to Roy that he was in Seattle and I wish he hadn't done that, but...well, anyway. It's done now. He did say he never wanted to see Roy again. Are you sure you can be gone this long?"

Stokely raised a knowing eyebrow. "Tara's keeping an eye on things. She'll understand when I tell her it was a personal thing."

He took a deep breath, the images taking focus in his internal lens. His heart was pounding again. He felt as paralyzed as he had been last night, standing there in the dark with Sasha next to him as they watched Casey go ballistic on the telephone.

"It did feel good for a few seconds. Just to hear him say it...but you didn't see him, Stokes. I know it didn't make him feel any better. He just...freaked, really and totally freaked. He started screaming at Roy, and then he smashed the phone...I mean he smashed it into little bits."

"God," Stokely breathed.

"I think he would have smashed something else but then Sasha made some stupid remark about how we need a new phone."

Stupid, but it had gotten Casey's attention.

 

They all stared at each other until it became ridiculous.

Standing in the corner, surrounded by a mess of plastic and paper bits on the floor, Casey was a study in extremes. He was wrathful and fearful, furious and desperate, empty and manic — all of it borne on the splotchy and tear-streaked countenance of a single young man. His entire body was vibrating with distress while he hugged himself and shifted his weight unevenly from foot to foot, as though that could somehow keep it all in.

Zeke didn't have a fucking clue what to do.

Finally Sasha made a move to bridge the coffee table and the few feet between them. He laid hands on Casey, who cried a denial and tore his arm away, staring at Sasha in warning and panic.

Sasha was not going to give up easily. "Kitten..." he said, and reached.

Then Casey was scuttling backward in the narrow channel between couch and coffee table so what began as an offer of comfort had turned into a chase, with Casey circling the table Sasha stalking him around it. "No...no good," Casey muttered. "Don't...stop it, stop it — " He broke off, making a sound of surprised pain as his shin came into contact with the coffee table. It was solid wood with an oak veneer, a relic from one of Sasha's secondhand shops. The collision must have given him an idea; he laid into the table with that shin, kicking repeatedly with no apparent intention of stopping, synchronizing his words with the damage he was inflicting on himself: "Stop. It. Stop. It."

"Casey...kitten...please," Sasha begged.

Again he managed to get close enough to touch Casey, just a small touch above his elbow, and Casey recoiled like a person who had suddenly discovered a very large insect crawling up their arm. "Don't," he hissed. He took a jerky step back and ran into the couch again. "Don't...say that..."

"Okay, kitten."

"Don't call me that!"

"I'll call you Mr. Connor if you want, only please — Casey — please don't hurt yourself."

Casey got still, his face contorted in anger, sorrow, suspicion, and a dozen other things.

"Why don't we sit?" Sasha proposed, very reasonably.

"No."

Sasha looked helplessly at Zeke, who grasped that he was expected to intervene. "Please, Case...can we sit down?" he echoed, and winced at his lack of originality.

"Why?"

"I think we all need it."

"Not me." Casey's frantic gaze moved from Sasha, to Zeke, to Sasha...back and forth like he expected either of them to pounce at any moment. The blotches had faded, leaving him a desperate, clammy white.

"I'm looking at you, Case, and I think you need to sit down."

"You don't want to. Not with me."

"Don't tell me what I want to do," Zeke contradicted gently.

Casey blinked once, twice. A third time, while the dementia began to melt off his face. "Okay," he said, frowning.

He sat cross-legged on the couch, right in the middle, and rested his folded elbows on knees, folding his body over like his stomach hurt. Zeke sat next to him, while Sasha positioned himself in front of them and began firing round after round of solicitude. "Can I bring you anything? Did you hurt yourself? How about some tea? Or maybe something cold?"

Casey appeared to consider it all, then: "How about a nice pill?" When neither of them responded, he started to laugh. "How — about it...gotta calm down, right? Calm the confused, crazy boy down? I'm not making any sense here and you gotta calm me down."

Zeke said, being sure to speak loud enough that he would hear, "You're not crazy, Case."

The laughing crashed to a stop; Casey tilted a look at him. "How do you know?"

"I just do," he said.

Out of nowhere, Casey accused, "You left."

Zeke's mind was racing, his body charged with adrenaline as he collected visual and aural input, seeking indicators as to the right approach, and still finding himself at a loss. Casey's body language said that he still didn't want to be touched, and a Casey who didn't wish to receive physical comfort was a Casey that Zeke never quite knew how to deal with. He was glad to be sitting; his knees, his hands — his whole body was trembling under the weight of responsibility. Meanwhile, Sasha was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, practically knee to knee with him, and offering nothing.

"I know," Zeke replied, his throat dry, "and I shouldn't have done that."

"You should do that. You should never come back because you'll just get broken if you do why should you even want to come back god...fuck...I don't...I hate this...IhatethisIhatethis!"

"Case — " Zeke risked a touch, laying his hand lightly on Casey's shoulder. When that wasn't rebuffed, he slid his arm around both shoulders and carefully hugged Casey against him. When Casey's hand crept up and took hold of Zeke's shirt, he could have wept with relief.

"You left," Casey said again. "And — and — I broke your phone —"

"We'll replace it. No big."

The grip on Zeke's shirt tightened until the collar pinched at his neck. "Told Roy where we live."

Zeke had already decided he was not going to let that one bother him. If Roy tried to make use of that information, Zeke would deal with him. "It's okay."

"But what if he comes here, what if — "

"I doubt that he will, but if he did we would handle it."

"I — I hurt you — "

Zeke trailed his fingers up Casey's neck and rubbed his nape, massaging muscles and tendons that felt like wires and string. "Yes," he agreed. "You did."

Across the way, Sasha's eyes became huge.

"You did, but you didn't mean to," Zeke said, with a challenging stare right back at Sasha. "I know you would never hurt me on purpose. You're trying to protect me and I appreciate it but I want you to stop. I want the pure, unadulterated Casey. He's not nearly as scary as you think he is."

Zeke didn't know if it was a wishful delusion on his part, but he sensed that he was accidentally saying something important. Casey was very quiet now, his body shuddering as it tried to restore equilibrium. Zeke kept up the stroking, waiting for the clenched body to unwind and take succour with him.

He added, "So you had a bit of a meltdown. You're still here, I'm still here and Sasha's still here. I'm sure there'll be more of them but we'll survive it."

Casey muttered something.

"What's that?" Zeke prompted.

"Not so sure."

"I am," Zeke said, thickly slathering confidence on the two little words. "Just — tell us what you need right now, Case."

Casey lifted his head and looked at him with wet eyes. His hair had formed damp spikes, his eyes were red-ringed, yet to Zeke he was perfect.

"I need the bathroom," he said, almost defiantly.

"All right, that's one thing," Zeke said, "but you have to give Sasha something to do before he implodes."

Casey remained rigid, shivering in waves. He looked in Sasha's direction, just barely. "Dunno — "

Sasha said, "Whatever you want, kit — uh, Casey."

"I...want one of my pills."

"I'll get it, but you need to be sure to tell Dr. Chakri how many you've been taking, to make sure it's okay. Anything else?"

Casey drew a breath and said in a very small voice, "Hungry."

"How about cinnamon toast...maybe some hot chocolate?"

With a swipe of his sleeve over his moist face, Casey said, so quietly that Zeke almost had to strain to hear him, "Yeah."

It seemed like Casey was in the bathroom for a long time, much longer than it could possibly take to do the usual things one did there. When he did emerge he was subdued to the point of invisibility, not meeting anyone's eyes as he shuffled his way back to the couch. Zeke put a tentative arm around him and was gratified when Casey leaned in. They remained in that pose, not moving or speaking, until Sasha returned.

The cinnamon toast had been cut into neat triangles and, in an attempt at levity, was arranged at artful angles on the plate with the tiny white pill perfectly in the centre. Casey didn't comment on it. He started with the pill, then got to work on the toast and cocoa. Since no one was talking, Zeke put on the TV for background noise.

"Would you like some more?" Sasha asked the minute Casey was finished. He was giving off the glow of a vindicated cook.

"Okay," Casey said.

"Um," Zeke interposed. The butter, chocolate and cinnamon fragrance had drawn him in; his stomach was growling.

Sasha had leaped up but stopped in mid-stride. "Yeah?"

"Could I...could I have some?"

Sasha broke into a grin. "Sure."

By the time he got back with a second helping, though, Casey was unconscious on Zeke's shoulder. Sasha shrugged, and the two of them sat up together for a while, sharing Casey's toast.

 

"We managed to get him to calm down and then we just sat up together," Zeke finished. He had given up on his muffin entirely. "Casey fell asleep on the couch and Sasha and I ended up watching Charlie's Angels together until we decided to try and crash. I think that was about four-thirty in the morning."

Stokely winced. "No wonder you look wrecked."

"Thanks."

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"No. We went back to bed but I couldn't fall asleep." Zeke sighed. "And I have absolutely no idea what's going to happen when he wakes up. I don't know if what happened was good or bad, or what it means...It's not a good feeling."

"I can't believe what you're dealing with, Zeke."

"Never thought I had it in me, huh?" Zeke downed the dregs of his coffee and stared out the window. It was starting to drizzle, making an already damp day even less inviting.

"No offense — but no."

Zeke shrugged. "None taken. I never thought I had it in me either."

"I wish I could help somehow, but...Casey just doesn't trust me like he used to."

"He trusts you. Believe me, if he didn't you would know."

"Then why does he look at me sometimes like he expects me to sprout tentacles?"

Zeke controlled a shiver as the unpleasant image settled to the bottom of his mind, where it would stay. He said, "I think he suspects everyone that way."

"Not you, though."

"Even me. Sometimes he gives me this look and I can tell he's cataloguing everything, correlating the data..."

"But why should he worry about you? You never really came into contact with them."

Zeke had never shared with anyone what went on between himself and Mary Beth in the storage closet, and he had no intention of doing so now. "It isn't exactly a rational thing, Stokes," he mused aloud.

"I guess." Stokely shredded her already-shredded napkin. "Do you ever feel that way? Like we might be surrounded by them?"

"Yeah," Zeke admitted. "I do, but I'm not about to say that to him." Feeling the need to end the conversation, he got up from their table, concluding, "There's really no point worrying about aliens. If they want to get us, they will. We were just lucky last time, and who's to say that they don't have bigger, nastier cousins out there?"

"Okay, now that I'm completely freaked out...I guess it's back to work." Stokely wrapped her bagel in a napkin and got to her feet. "I'll take this with me."

"Stokes...I meant what I said before about finances. I'd be happy to help out."

"I appreciate that, Zeke, but I'm going to try posting an ad for a roommate, see what sort of nibbles I get. I...um...may have to borrow a bit from you here and there."

"Like I said...you only have to ask."

"Thanks."

They were heading to the door in single file, Zeke in front of Stokely.

"And feel free to drop in whenever you'd like..." He trailed away as an unlikely scene presented itself to his eyes. Stokely had begun to answer him but was cut off by Zeke's exclamation. "What the hell — ?"

As they moved to the door, Zeke's eye line had expanded and he was now getting a full-on view of Casey standing at the cash register, surrounded by strangers.

 

The stain was going to be permanent.

On his knees next to the wall, Casey took a break from his scrubbing to ease the ache in his arms. Okay, he had gotten the worst of it off, but there were still streaks and discolourations that simply refused to budge despite his best efforts. He seemed to recall seeing a bottle of bleach under the sink, though, maybe he could try that.

"Casey?"

He couldn't stop the flinch, which was followed immediately by the usual procession of symptoms...Heart, lungs, hands, there they all went like clockwork while a sleep-rumpled Sasha winced sympathetically.

"Sorry. Startled you, huh?"

Startled didn't cover it. Bewildered and astonished might just...because Sasha sounded and looked exactly as Sasha always did, as though he really liked the person he was talking to and looking and he wanted to convey that liking with his every word, his every gesture.

"Casey, what are you doing?"

"C-cleaning — the wall."

"You didn't have to do that..."

"It won't come off."

Sasha crouched next to him and examined the wall for himself. He said, like he was talking to someone dangerous, "You got most of it. No one will notice it unless they're looking."

"I should..."

Sasha put his hand on top of Casey's and insisted, "How about you just leave it now?"

Casey relinquished the sponge. It wasn't doing him much good now — and he could always try the bleach later.

"Now this doesn't mean that I want you to give up on helping with the housekeeping, you understand." Sasha smiled as he telescoped into a standing position, then headed for the kitchen, adding, "You can wash dishes as much as you like. Wash dishes, mop the floor..."

"Where's Zeke?" Casey asked.

He hadn't intended to just blurt that out, even if the question had been at the top of his list of worries since unfurling himself carefully from Sasha's warmth this morning and stealing to the door of their apartment to verify that Zeke's backpack was gone. That was supposed to mean that Zeke was at the university but supposed to didn't mean it necessarily was — so he had gone and peered out his bedroom window to the alley below. The Mustang was still there — but that didn't have to mean what it was supposed to mean either. He had thought about waking up Sasha to ask him, but that would have been absurd. Sasha needed his sleep, and Casey already knew the answer to his question. He had no faith in that answer, but he knew it.

That was really the crux of it all. He knew how he was supposed to behave, what he was supposed to think, and while he was capable of formulating those thoughts, he just couldn't believe in them. He did understand the whole bit about friends going the distance for each other, and sure, Zeke and Sasha might act like they weren't fed up with him...but perhaps they didn't yet appreciate how completely terrible he was...or they did and they were just trying to spare his pitiful feelings.

Sasha halted his trajectory, turned, and regarded Casey for a moment without comment before saying, "Zeke's at school, Casey. He'll be back later...Come and sit with me, okay?"

Casey let himself be led to his usual place on the couch, while Sasha sat in his chair. He was near but not next to Casey, looking at him steadily, with nothing but patience and kindness. Even so, all of Casey's organs continued to trip over themselves in fear of whatever it was that Sasha was going to say today.

It started with, "How are you this morning?"

"Okay," Casey gulped.

"I'm glad to hear it." Sasha coughed. "You know...I'm very proud of you."

"Don't — don't say that."

"Why not? You told Roy off, you told him to leave you alone...I heard you giving him hell, Casey, why wouldn't I be proud?"

Casey closed his eyes, struggling to formulate something other then imsorryimsorryimsorryimsorry... He remembered screaming and smashing and holding two people hostage with his little tantrum. "Can we — can I — ?"

"What, Casey?"

"Buy a new phone today?"

"That's really not necessary, Zeke can look after it. Or I will."

"But I broke it. I broke it, I...just need to go to the bank and check if my dad put money in first is all — "

"Casey, we understand you were angry, it's fine — "

"I was the one who broke it, I should fix it!" Sasha looked at him quickly and he realized that his tone had arrived as screeching hysteria. "Please," he said, trying to sound calm. "I want to go get a new phone — I need to call — that clinic."

"Okay, kit — " Sasha said. His eyes fell. "Casey."

...sorrysorrysorrysorry...

"Do you really not like it when I call you ‘kitten'?" Sasha asked.

"No...I...yes, I do, I mean..." Casey put his feet on the couch, bringing his knees up and holding onto them. "I don't know why...I said that."

"Maybe you've had enough of pet names."

"No — I haven't really, Sasha — really..."

...sorry Zeke hates him sorry Zeke can never trust him Zeke left him Zeke can't get what he needs Zeke can't go to school sorry the last three days have been so bad sorry for every time he doesn't make lunch or wash dishes or left everyone else to make excuses for him sorry he never called that relaxation place and doesn't go for walks and throws up everything he eats just about sorrysorrysorry he told Sasha he hates him...

Now there was a warmth and weight beside him, and a hand rubbed his shoulder. "It's okay, kitten. Calm down...breathe...there, that's it." Sasha removed his hand but not his careful gaze. "We still love you."

"How...you can't...?"

Somehow, Sasha smiling. "Oh, we manage."

"But I told you — I said I hated you."

"I forgive you, kitten. We all make mistakes but they don't have to live on forever. I made a mistake too, but I'm way past it so you should be too."

"I — I don't know — "

"Just try, okay?" Sasha squeezed his shoulder this time. "You're easy to love, Casey." Getting off the couch, he said, "Now, just let me grab a shower and get pretty, and then I'll go shopping with you. Won't be long."

Trembling, Casey watched as Sasha sauntered off to the bathroom. "Just fucking stop," he whispered to himself. "Stop it, stop it." He chewed on a finger, biting down hard until the surge and crash of feelings receded enough that he could think — somewhat.

For a start, he would not think about Roy anymore. He couldn't afford to. It wasn't entirely clear in his head, but he seemed to remember telling Roy to leave him alone, and he didn't have any energy to squander on Roy now. He must not dwell on the fact that Roy could easily track Casey down now if he wanted to. Casey didn't think he would, not after last night...last night when he showed the two people who meant everything to him exactly what he was...he was a very fuckable body but there's nothing there, not real, nothing whole or real or stopstopstop...he had to give Sasha and Zeke something, he had to make amends.

He couldn't give them normalcy, that was fairly well established by now. Maybe, though, he could manage to give them routine. The simple, mundane routine that you could count on so that your life runs itself when you're breaking down. If you had routine then maybe the chaos inside you didn't have to be everyone's chaos — which was where the phone-shopping came in. For routine, you needed a phone. You needed to call various people to make appointments and then attend those appointments and if you did that, if you were on track, then Sasha would feel safe enough to call that waiter from work and make a date with him. If Sasha had a life of his own, then he would be happier and Zeke could get what he needed from Casey so he would be happier too.

It had to start whether he was ready or not, because Zeke and Sasha couldn't exist like this anymore. They were going to protest and claim that they were happy to keep picking up his slack indefinitely, but he knew it wasn't so. Zeke was breaking, and Sasha was breaking. They would never say so, but they were. So it had to start — he had to start.

Where and how, though, were another matter. There was the phone, yes, but that was just cleaning up his own mess. There had to be something Casey could do now to surprise Sasha, signify to him that Casey was serious about this whole routine thing. Something that Casey hadn't done before, something just for Sasha...Coffee. A coffee from Zorba's just down the street that would say I'm sorry I'm such a mess but I'll stop now, or if I don't really know how to stop at least that doesn't have to be your problem anymore.

So he would get a coffee for Sasha, apologize again for what happened yesterday, go phone-shopping — check in at the bank, of course. Then once they were home and safe again, he would phone for an appointment at that relaxation therapy clinic, and he would call Dell or Gateway so they would soon have a computer and Zeke could use it to write his papers which meant that Casey would be contributing something to the household.

Down the hall, the shower was still running. Casey heard Sasha warbling one of his jazz tunes...Nice work if you can get it...and you can get it...if you try.

The plan had just one flaw: He didn't want to do any of it. His quivering body said he wouldn't survive it even though his head insisted otherwise. Well, his body would just have to get with the program. His head knew he was supposed to do these things and supposed to would just have to forget about like to.

He went to their living room window and looked out, almost able to see in the front window of Zorba's. It was grey on grey out there — but not raining yet. He could go out and be back in five minutes and barely get damp. And he still had a few bucks from yesterday.

He put his half-empty cup on the table and went to the door, not making a sound. He put on his fleece, shivering already. The money and his new ATM card were still in his pocket. He needed to get a wallet. Normal grown-up types owned a wallet; even Zeke, who was fairly abnormal, had a wallet.

But he wasn't quite getting out that door, was he? Five fucking minutes. He would only have to be lucky for that long. Five times a count of sixty which really was a very long time if you thought about it. If you weren't thinking about it, though, if you fucking tried, it could pass just like that.

He opened the door. A blast of chill, autumn air. Hadn't it been summer yesterday? It seemed like it had. Casey tugged on the fleece's zipper, making sure it couldn't go any higher. He stepped out on the metal stair.

Getting down the stairs wasn't so bad. He concentrated on the simple expedient of moving one leg and then the other, setting down this foot, that foot. At the bottom of the stairs he stopped, frozen in place. People passed the entrance to the side alley, some walking briskly, others meandering. One stopped and put down several bags of groceries she was carrying, resting her arms and hands. She looked directly at Casey and nodded at him once before resuming her journey. The nod seemed cordial enough.

Not that it meant a fucking thing. Of course the ones who couldn't be trusted would look identical to the ones that could.

One foot in front of the other. That was the only thing that would do. A bit of that and he was on the sidewalk. He turned left and started to walk. He took a step, and two more, and stopped again before Wellth's front display, his legs trembling, leaning against the window. Every time someone passed by him he pressed a little harder into that glass wall, which naturally didn't give at all. It was hard and unyielding, and so was the cement under his feet and the grey sky.

He couldn't do this. It wasn't doable, he had to go back. He was in the open, completely exposed and the whole world was out there. It all looked like it should, but that didn't count for shit. Someone had to remember, someone had to be vigilant. If they assumed they were safe, fate would be forced to bite them on the ass. It was complacency that nearly got everyone the last time and if they were here, if it wasn't safe, then complacency would certainly finish them off.

Dammit, it was the same sidewalk as the other times when he had Sasha or Zeke or his father with him. The same fucking sidewalk, no extra danger just because he was alone. No monsters under the bed suddenly because the lights were out when they hadn't been there before...but they were there, the monsters. They had always been there, that was the whole point...Poor little Newt in Aliens was right when she said, My mommy always said there were no monsters no real ones but there are...Maybe having someone with him out here helped him to not think of it, but he was alone and he was thinking about it now and he would zone out and be standing here helpless, no fantasy that, it had happened too many times before —

"You're okay," he muttered. "Go...just fucking...go."

He gulped for air, forcing the thoughts to be on pause. He was staring though the windows, right at the woman behind the cash register. She was Stokely's friend...Tina...Tara, that was her name. She was looking at him, her brows drawn together. Perhaps wondering if there was someone she needed to call.

Running seemed like the thing to do. He scurried for the coffee shop, chanting under his breath, "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay..."

He came through the door at Zorba's so abruptly that every person on that side of the coffee shop looked at him, including every person in a really unmanageably long line- up of three plus two employees and several people sitting at tables and it was a Monday morning didn't these people have jobs or something? And what was so interesting about him anyway, you'd think they'd never seen a crazy person before. In his mind he screamed at them all to fuck right off but what if he said that out loud, what if his mouth just opened and it came out and then they really had a reason to stare at him and follow him stopitstopitstopitstop!

He took his place in the line, leaving a couple feet of space between himself and the person in front of him. He jittered from foot to foot, so that everyone would get the message that they were to leave a wide margin between themselves and him.

"...okayokayokay..." he breathed.

Fuck normal.

"...okayokay...."

Not doable, not. Living in the apartment, staying there and never leaving, that was doable. He didn't really have to go anywhere if he got everything set up the way he wanted. It could be done, people did it, all he had to do was decide. He could do school on-line and have groceries delivered. Like the lady in Copycat, Sigourney Weaver again, living in a completely self-contained world writing books and consulting for a living —

"May I help you?"

The question was abnormally loud, expelling Casey from a better world that he didn't happen to live in. A gangly young man with long hair was waiting, most likely having asked his question once or twice already.

Casey stammered, "Um....uh..."

"Yes?" the guy prompted.

There was a wall of impatience behind Casey. And in front, too, coming from the coffee guy. "A c-coffee," he got out.

He only heard half of the response: "What kind of...like...have Alaska...and... today."

Clenching his hands together in front of his belly, he tried not to imagine what it would be like if someone touched him because he would run away shrieking. "Y-you...you pick," he said.

The face and tone of the guy came through the anxiety haze with perfect clarity. "Well, do you like a full-bodied taste or something lighter?"

What was that about, did he like his coffee how? He didn't... it wasn't... "I don't know...It isn't — f-for me," he blathered, feeling desperate tears welling up.

The guy shifted his weight and blew exasperation out of his mouth, his eyes flicking over Casey with disinterested pity — which was not so bad he supposed, it could have been fascination, that fascination that people sometimes had for the freakish when it was right in front of them. "Okay, I'll pick. Most people like the Venetian. Milk and sugar?"

Casey drew a breath. "I don't know," he whispered. He should know, he did...He knew the pattern on Sasha's favourite pajamas and his birthday, and that he liked his beef rare and his pork medium. He should know this. "I don't know."

The coffee guy rolled his eyes and said acerbically, "Do you know anything?"

"Rob," said a warning voice from behind him. It was accented and that was all Casey could make out just then; at another time, a more rational time, he would probably have been able to identify the type of accent. "I'll bet Geraldine would like some feedback about your customer service skills. Is she around?"

"No," said Rob the Coffee Guy.

"Is there a suggestion box?"

Rob moved from impatient to sullen. "I"ll just put milk," he said to Casey. "Is that to go?"

Casey was capable of a nod.

From behind him, the stranger with the accent advised, "Bring a few packets of sugar with you. That way chances are you'll get it right."

That crisp, analytical voice somehow suggested compassion, and plain old- fashioned helping-ness. Casey made himself turn and look. Its owner was a black man, roughly in his forties. Tall and broad shouldered, he was a towering structure that easily could have been intimidating, but something about the way he held himself...wasn't. He wore a perfectly tailored suit in a deep shade of teal blue. His shirt was mustard yellow, his tie a brilliant pastiche of Africana in reds, oranges, yellows.

Even in his current state, Casey easily recognized the charisma in front of him and was slightly bewildered that it should take time from its own day to help him. Casey knew he should say thank you — but it wasn't a good idea to engage in any kind of extended social interaction, even if the person appeared completely human and trustworthy.

"Nasty weather," said the man, with a slight smile.

"Uh...yeah..."

Thinking ahead to the impending ordeal of paying for the coffee, Casey dug some money out of his pocket and promptly dropped several coins on the floor. The man in the teal suit bent down and retrieved them.

"Here," he said, handing them to Casey. His hand was big, calloused and warm. Casey finally identified the accent as something Caribbean; he lacked more specific knowledge than that.

"Th-thank you," he said.

"It's not a prob — "

"Casey!?"

Zeke's voice, it was Zeke's voice, it was...that was Zeke which was so unthinkable that Casey felt the panic swell to a new level as Zeke came hurtling at them, Stokely close behind. The people standing in line parted easily before Zeke, who took Casey's arm in a very firm grip; not as firm as last night but still a good, secure grip that overlapped the fingerprint-shaped bruises that were already there.

"What are you doing?" Zeke demanded. His eyes did a tour of Casey's benefactor and didn't like the view one bit. He tugged Casey a little closer to his own body. "Where's Sasha?"

"H-home."

Rob the Coffee Guy announced gleefully, "That'll be one-seventy-four."

Zeke must have decided to notice that there were other people around, people who might be looking at them; he let go of Casey and glanced down at the counter. "You're missing a quarter," he told Casey.

He gave the man who had been helping Casey a fixed, meaningful stare.

Casey groped for a coin with a hand that shook to the point of paralysis. His fingers scrabbled over paper, paper, paper...He couldn't find anything remotely like a small disc-shaped piece of metal. He wanted nothing so much as to run from the store crying but some mysterious emotion was keeping him from doing that. It couldn't have been pride.

Zeke casually pulled some change from his own pocket and put it down. Then picking up the coffee in its paper cup, he directed Casey with a hand on his shoulders to a more open space out on the sidewalk. Stokely was already out there, waiting. "Sneaking a little java?" she asked, trying for a smile.

He shook his head. "It's for Sasha," he answered, appealing to Zeke for understanding.

"Does he know you left the apartment?" Zeke asked, humourless.

"No, I..." A tear snaked down his face, catching him by surprise. He swiped furiously at it. "I wanted — wanted to surprise him."

"Well, I'm sure that you accomplished that."

Casey's answer, the answer he thought of first was No, I was supposed to get back before he knew so there would just be coffee waiting but that won't be happening now thanks to you... but that was a little bit of a lie, the truth was it took him ten minutes to cross the street and by the time he got in here he was broken and it actually felt really nice to have Zeke standing here next to him being completely masterful and in control.

Coffee in one hand and Casey in the other, Zeke marched home. Stokely trailed them as far as the door to Wellth. She said something about maybe seeing them later.

Sasha was in their doorway, with a face of stone. He was bent over, putting on his shoes.

"Oh, oh, oh!" he cried. He crushed Casey against him, mashing Casey's face against the buttons on his shirt for a few seconds before he released him, taking in his current condition. "What did — where the hell did you go?"

"Wanted to — to g-get you a coffee."

"We have a completely functional coffee maker and we have those ground up beans that you put in it and one of those newfangled water taps that water comes out of."

"I wanted — "

"Do you appreciate the kind of terror I feel when you do these things?"

"I — I was — was going to — get back — before —" Casey stuttered and that was as far as he got before a heavy misery bore down on him and silenced him

In a much-preferred reality, Sasha sipped on a fragrant hot beverage, content in the knowledge that he had helped his friend heal to the point that he could do this simple favour for him, while Casey congratulated himself on his first solo outing and Zeke sat in a lecture hall and chewed on the end of his pen, thinking up brilliant retorts and firing them at the professor in even bursts, thinking happily about how he and Casey would have the apartment to themselves later because Sasha was going out on a date.

In the reality Casey was settling for, Sasha had processed Zeke's presence and said, "And you? What are you doing here anyway? Did you skip class again?"

Zeke shot back, "Don't try to be my mother, Sasha. I have one already and I don't like her."

"But I thought when you left this morning..."

"I couldn't go, not with..."

Not with the Casey-monster around, the one who broke things and stopped people from doing things, from having a life. Who could go to school when they were living with a lunatic and worrying about the lunatic doing lunatic things when they weren't watching him?

Unexpectedly, Sasha lifted his cup and said, "Kitten...Thank you for this, I appreciate it." He took a taste. "Milk," he said thoughtfully, not quite managing to suppress a grimace.

Because Sasha drank his coffee black. He always said if he wanted milk in his coffee he would have a latte, but the rest of the time it was black black black. Casey knew that but he hadn't known it when he was in the coffee shop because fear had grown holes in his brain.

Now the holes had closed up and he could remember things again and feel and say and think sorrysorrysorry but it was getting to be too much to say, too much to be redeemed from, the tally against him getting longer and longer...Sleeping with Roy being helpless making endless drama that got everyone worked up and worried being completely useless every difficult day since. That mess on the wall. Breaking the phone. And now screwing up a simple attempt to do something for someone other than himself — not that it was truly selfless. If he were selfless he would just stay put and obey all orders, never stray far from anyone's direct gaze.

"I'm...sorry," Casey said, trying to dam up the oceans of salt water behind his eyes. If they weren't standing there trying to recover from his latest escapade, he could have lain down on the floor and bawled.

"Hey, it's okay, kitten. I'll live. And — I'm happy that you got me this." Sasha patted his arm. "I'm almost ready to go."

"Where are you going now?" Zeke wanted to know.

"Casey and I are going to get a new phone."

"I can do that," Zeke said immediately.

"No, you're going to the library to catch up on your reading and then to your class at two."

"Sasha — "

"Do you want to fail out of college?"

"I won't."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure."

"Well, go anyway."

Zeke turned an uneasy look on Casey.

"I'm okay," Casey said. "I — I want to. I broke it."

Which sure the fuck didn't make much sense. He just babbled and babbled and they wouldn't get much of use from him, just like Roy didn't last night even though he had tried to say it all and got too overwhelmed and confused and Roy yelled at him but he could stand here with Sasha and Zeke and hope please go because if you don't everything, every last thing, will be wrong, go and say it's all right, please, even though I may never see you again.

"All right," Zeke said, not entirely willingly. "I'll go to class. I...um, I thought I would stop by the movie place on my way home. We could order pizza for supper and make a night of it. How's that sound?"

"Excellent idea," Sasha chimed.

"Any movie requests?"

Sasha said, "No gore."

"All right, no gore."

"Something fun," Sasha added. "I'm just going to finish my hair, I'll be a sec, okay, kitten?"

Still wearing his shoes, he walked down the hall and into the bathroom, leaving Zeke and Casey still standing in the foyer. "How's that sound?" Zeke asked.

Zeke was nervous, and Casey was aware that it was the first time they'd truly been alone since the bedroom scene of last night — which he didn't entirely remember. There was the say my name and hands biting him while his head thundered the youdontsaynotome so the face in front of him blurred into someone else's and he was asked the one question that was impossible for him to answer. Then he was dropped, the floor rushing up to hit him, and his vision finally cleared, showing him Zeke's back as he fled.

"Good," Casey remembered to say.

Zeke smiled a tender, almost shy smile that immediately brought Casey's insides to a full quake, shivering with nerves and acid. Casey saw Zeke's hand reach for him and he met it with his own grip, bringing Zeke's hand to rest on his jaw and rubbing his face against it as he stepped in. An arm slid around him. Casey put his cheek flat on Zeke's chest, using one finger to trace a seam on Zeke's shirt. Closing his eyes, he laid his palm flat over Zeke's heart, felt it lobbing itself into his palm.

"Zeke..."

"Case, I'm..."

"...so sorry."

"...sorry for making a scene in the coffee shop."

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

"Sorry for — for holding you so hard last night."

"Sorry for what I did...sorry for hurting you."

"I'm — no, I'm...no more now, I'm done, just...Who was that man you were talking to?"

"I don't know. He helped me."

"Hmmph. With no ulterior motives, I'm sure. Not that I don't trust you, Case, it's just...I know I'm not entirely objective but it seems to me that you're pretty damn irresistible."

Casey didn't know where he found the will to be playful when it was the last thing he felt. He murmured, "So any man could just snap and attack me?"

"Something like that."

He sent his gaze upwards, into the dark furnace of emotion above.

"Do you want to attack me?" Casey asked softly.

In answer, Zeke's mouth claimed Casey's. Not hard, but possessive and powerful and everything Zeke. Let me live here, it said, and it will be okay, all this other crap won't matter. Stay in or go out, I don't care as long as we stay just like this, me inside you. I'll make you safe. Show me how you want me...show me...show me...there you are....Now I have you.

Zeke drew back with a set of tender kisses along the outside of Casey's mouth, his cheek, his closed eyes. Casey opened his lids slowly and let Zeke fill his world. Zeke was holding both his hands against his chest and he was all that Casey could see, eclipsing everything.

Someone cleared their throat.

Casey shifted against Zeke so he was standing beside him, hoping that the throbbing heat in his crotch wasn't completely obvious.

"I'm ready to go," Sasha said, trying to pretend he wasn't flushed or upset at catching them at that moment. "And as much as I'd like to stand here and ogle, we all need to get going. Did you eat yet today, kitten?"

"Breakfast." Casey pressed closer to Zeke, hating the university and phones and empty stomachs and clinics and the need for all of them.

"Well, believe it or not, a lot of people eat three times in a given day. Sometimes more." Sasha moved past them into the kitchen. "I'll slap together a sandwich for you. Were you about to go, Zeke?"

Zeke let his arms fall, stepping away from Casey. "Yeah, I'm going. See you later." He kissed Casey once, a matter-of-fact peck on the mouth, and left, casting a smoldering look back over his shoulder.

Sasha was throwing the bread on the counter. He slammed the fridge door a bit harder than necessary, his lips pressed in a tight line.

"I could — " Casey started, leaning up against the wall.

"Don't even."

"But I could do that."

Sasha opened his mouth, drawing a sharp breath, then closed it. He continued what he was doing and said, "Casey, listen to me now. I want to take care of you. I like taking care of you."

Casey wrapped his arms around his chest and rocked into the wall. "Don't you — you must get tired of it."

Sasha's mouth was getting thinner and thinner. "Must I?" he said. He dropped a slice of ham on the floor and cursed, "Fuck!"

"I'm sorry," Casey said quickly.

Sasha shook his head in visible frustration, bending over and retrieving the escaped pork and throwing it out. "No, don't apologize, kitten, it's not your problem. All of a sudden it bugs me when I see you and Zeke together like that and that's my problem." Two more slices of meat were put between bread and cheese. Sasha cut the sandwich in half diagonally and yanked a sheet of paper towel off the roll hanging over the sink. "I don't want to be worried. I'm a romantic, you know that. I would much rather go ‘ooh' and ‘aah' when I see you two in a lip lock. It's my natural inclination — but I can't not worry. As far as I'm concerned, sex is the last thing you need right now." Handing the sandwich over, he said, "There. I've said it, now I'm going to shut up. I just have to figure out a way to keep my distance and keep an eye on you at the same time."

Casey took a bite. Ham and Swiss, and he was hungry despite the nerves dancing with joyless abandon in his gut. He chewed, swallowed and said, "Maybe you should, um..."

"What?"

"I know that — that you — you like taking care of me but maybe you need a break....just...something more fun to think about."

"Like what?"

"A d-date?"

"Hmmph." Sasha tilted a suspicious look at him. "Trying to get rid of me, kitten?"

"No," Casey said, putting on his most innocent face.

Sasha laughed. "Yes, you are! That's okay, I won't take it personally, I guess. Well, if you want me to go anywhere we'll have to get that phone, and I'm not setting foot out there until you finish that sandwich."

Casey obeyed, even if he did fear that the sandwich wouldn't be staying in his stomach. Not that he wouldn't try. He wanted to be capable of shopping and digesting at the same time. There was always Xanax, but today, this afternoon, he wanted to try to go without. He had been taking the pills almost every six hours the last few days.

Inevitably, the five-minute walk to the bank and then the remaining ten to the Radio Shack in their neighbourhood left him a quivering wreck who didn't give a fuck about the tools of modern communication anymore. His stomach was churning, his head was aching, his limbs were covered in cold sweat. He felt himself on the point of crying or screaming, the only thing holding him back being uncertainty as to which he should do first.

And in an amusing quirk of destiny, the salesperson who helped them could have been Casey himself. Just out of high school, short, nerdy, and far too interested in gadgets. Casey wanted to take him aside for a heart-to-heart and tell him where he was going to go wrong, but he knew that the moment he opened his mouth he would vomit.

"There's the KX-12, that's perfectly serviceable but if you're looking for something more — "

"Um," Casey said, interrupting him. "That one."

He pointed at one model of cordless phone, something reasonable both in price and in technical complexity. He pulled out the cash he had just removed from his bank account and shoved it into Sasha's hand.

"Do you have a b-bathroom...could use?" he said around clenched teeth.

The Casey-alike nodded. "Just go through there and look to your left."

He ran for the door with the sign "Employees Only" and emerged minutes later, shaking and chilled. Sasha was standing at the cash register, looking sad and worried while he waited for the saleskid to finish bagging their purchase. Casey went over and stood as close to him as he could. Confused terror swirled in his head, blanking out all the reasons why he was here, why he had not brought the little bottle of pills with him when the bottle was singing to him from home... Should have taken us with you...never leave home without us, should have taken one...idiot idiot such an idiot for not bringing Xanax with you.

Sasha didn't have anything to say as they walked home.

Once inside, Casey went directly to the shower, his trembling legs barely keeping him upright. For half an hour he stood under the spray, the heat turned up just to the point of scalding, just barely able to keep down the desire to smash and smash and smash his fist into the hard tiles until it shattered and sprayed blood and bone. He would watch it all go down the drain and laugh and then he would do his other hand, and then maybe his head.

There was a cup of mint tea waiting for him on the kitchen table when he came out, and Sasha was sitting there as well. "How about trying that new phone out?" Sasha asked.

"Huh?"

"Don't you have some calls to make?"

Casey grunted and sat down in the chair across from him.

"I didn't hear you," Sasha said, in his stern-schoolteacher-with-a bun-on-top-of- her-head voice.

"What's the point?"

"You know what the point is. If nothing else, you don't want to get into trouble with Dr. Chakri."

Casey took a sip of tea and found the taste quite palatable. It settled his stomach at least — hooray for insipid, discoloured water, it was perfect for him as it turned out.

"Maybe you should stop being so hard on yourself," Sasha suggested.

"Why?" Casey said to his cup.

"Kitten, this is the same problem we had yesterday. You're trying to force yourself to act like everything is hunky-dory because you think that's what Zeke and I need."

"It is."

"No, it isn't, Casey, it...What we need is for you to get well on your own schedule. It's not something that can't be forced."

"You make Zeke go to school."

There was a pause across from him, but he didn't want to look up to interpret its meaning. "That's true. But school is Zeke's job now. You don't see me not going to my job. Going on dates, though...that's something else. I'm not capable of enjoying myself out on the town when I'm worrying about you, so stop trying to make out like I could. I love that you want to do that for us, but please don't — don't hurt yourself over it."

"You told me, you said...you said guess what happened to me I got asked on a date but I can't go because I have to worry about you."

Sasha's mouth fell open.

"So I'm the reason you can't have a life."

"That's not what I said."

"It's what you — meant."

"Are you arguing with me, Casey?"

Casey stared at his tea.

"I'm not saying don't argue with me...I'm just surprised is all."

He should never have spoken because he was out over the edge now, without words. There was a great, white, quivering nothing in his head now.

"Yes," Sasha elaborated, forcing the conversation to limp forward, "I was thinking that I had to stick around all the time to watch you and Zeke, but that was yesterday and now I've decided I'm not going to do that. It's not right for any of us. So tell me to butt out of your sex life, Casey, and I will. I have to anyway, but it would help if you said it."

Sasha's tone was even and calm. There was no sign of anger.

"It's okay. You can say it, I won't be offended. Do you want me to butt out?"

They both waited. Casey had no idea what was going to happen, what he was going to say.

"Yes," he heard himself whisper.

"There, see how easy? You can tell me off, kitten, and I'll still be your friend."

Casey gripped his teacup, thinking about the mess he had made on the wall yesterday. Surely things like that never went away, no matter how hard you tried. People said they didn't notice, that it was gone and behind them and they meant it too, but that discolouration was always there, a tinge of something that was so subtle it could pass for invisible.

Thankfully, Sasha kept talking, filling the silence. "Now I'll make you a deal, kitten. We'll give the new phone a few hours to charge up, and then you call this relaxation therapy clinic and make an appointment. After that I'll call Jerry and see what he's up to."

Casey nodded, not daring to disagree. In fact, he was going to make it his life mission to never disagree with anyone again.

 

The lecture hall was nearly full, but there was an empty seat next to Winona that she had probably been saving for him. He couldn't comprehend why she was so determined to have him as a friend. Not that he disliked her especially, but he felt no real need to socialize with her. He had never seen the value of aggressively pursuing relationships the way that some did. Like Delilah. The sheer volume of energy that Delilah poured into her social life had always amazed and humbled him.

Winona waved. Undoubtedly, she had seen him see her so he had no choice but to sit next to her unless he wanted to snub her, which he wasn't particularly interested in doing.

"I missed you last Friday," she said once he was settled.

"Oh. Well, I...I was busy."

Now that he was sitting, it was difficult to think of anything that didn't have to do with Casey. Casey and how he had looked up at Zeke just before, with his eyes such a deep shade of blue they were nearly solid through the pupil, with that particular tincture of desperation and hope and welcome that slammed him back in time. Three years ago, a heavy stare, sleepy eyes — and then a furtive kiss that he had made himself forget

"...So then I tore off my clothing and climbed the Space Needle like Spiderman."

He blinked at Winona. "Huh?"

"You're off somewhere. You haven't heard a word I said."

"No," he admitted. "Sorry."

"I'll forgive you, I guess."

He quashed his annoyance. She was in no position to forgive him. She barely knew him.

"You can borrow my notes from Friday if you like," she offered.

"Um," he said, thinking that the last thing he wanted was to trust someone else's interpretations of the course material but he would be polite. "Thanks."

"No problem." Winona sighed. "Wouldn't it be nice if the professor didn't show?"

"Yeah." Zeke groped for more than a monosyllabic answer. "He isn't the most exciting lecturer."

"That's an understatement." Winona paused, her expression just a little scheming, to Zeke's eyes. "So, Zeke. I have the feeling you pretty much understand this stuff."

"What makes you think that?"

"Just a few comments you made here and there. I was wondering...We have our first paper due in a couple of weeks and I'm nervous. I know it's only five pages but it's my first paper in college and I'm afraid I don't really get Plato, so, um..."

"Yeah?"

"Could you tutor me a little? I mean, just you and I get together and talk Plato a bit? Maybe you could look over my paper too, after I write the thing. I'd offer to read yours for you but you probably don't need it — "

"I've never written a paper for college either." That was the truth, although he had no way of knowing what sort of critique she could deliver. "Okay. I guess we could do that."

"That is, if your boyfriend lets you out of his sight long enough?"

He turned a long, flat look on her.

She shrugged, her mouth forming a slight smirk. "Just teasing."

"Don't." He noted the professor walking in with relief. "Maybe I'm not the person you want to help you study."

Winona didn't answer and she didn't get a chance to as the lecture had started. Zeke listened with half an ear, occasionally writing something down, thinking about later, how he and Casey might contrive to get some time alone. Tomorrow it would happen for sure, because like it or not, Sasha had to go to work.

Winona tapped his arm. He looked over at her pad of notepaper that was lying in easy view. It said I'm sorry, I'll never say a word about the boyfriend after this. I'd just like a study partner so I don't feel like I'm out on my own here. I'm really not a bad sort.

Zeke scribbled, Okay.

So when do you want to get together?

He remembered Casey's appointment. Don't think I'll be here on Wednesday. Tomorrow at one?

She gave this proposal a checkmark and they parted amicably at the end of the lecture. Zeke moved on to his next assignment, which was to get a movie for tonight.

The rental place that Casey preferred was called Video Now and Then. Zeke knew that Casey liked it because, in addition to all the newer, mainstream offerings, there was a decent selection of older and lesser known titles. The owner of the store tended it himself and had seen the three roommates come in together enough times already that he recognized Zeke right away. Zeke received a cordial nod when he walked in, and he nodded back.

After several minutes of perusing the shelves, Zeke had to admit that he was drawing a blank. He had not appreciated what a weighty undertaking it could be to choose a movie by himself, without direction from Casey. The regrettable truth was that most of Zeke's knowledge of movies was derived from reading magazines and novels rather than direct consumption.

"Can I help?"

The shop owner was standing next to him. He was stocky, with beefy shoulders and arms; he looked like an ex-boxer to Zeke, which seemed incongruous and somehow appropriate at the same time. "I dunno," Zeke sighed.

"Did you have a particular theme in mind?"

"Um...something to cheer up my friend."

"That would be the short one, right? With the eyes?"

Zeke decided not to be concerned that the man had noticed Casey. That was going to happen more frequently if Casey began to traffic with the world outside their apartment. And to be fair, only a blind shopkeeper wouldn't have figured out by now that of the three of them, it was Casey who was his star customer.

"Yeah..." Zeke said. "So what movie do you recommend for cheering up depressive movie addicts?"

The man didn't blink. He just put on a thoughtful face for a few seconds, then shaking a triumphant finger at Zeke, said, "Hold on."

He walked around to the other side of the store, grabbed a DVD and returned, handing it to Zeke.

"Singin' in the Rain?" Zeke said, disbelieving.

"Yup."

"Aw, come on..."

"Trust me on this." The man cocked his head. "You've never seen it?"

"I don't think so. I might have and just don't remember."

"Oh, I think you'd remember if you'd seen it."

"I don't like musicals."

"Neither do I, but this one's pretty good. And you did ask..."

"Okay...I'll try it."

Zeke followed the man up to the front to take care of the financial and administrative details. He fell into a light trance while the man ran his phone number through the computer and punched in the rental fee. He tried to imagine how Casey looked to this man, what it was about him that stood out and did he notice Casey the way Zeke noticed him....the short one with the eyes...eyes like dinner plates, sometimes...eyes like a lesson about blue...

"Here you go...what's your name, then?"

"Zeke."

"Here you go, Zeke. And what's your friend's name?"

Zeke hesitated, but the man seemed harmless. "Casey. And the tall one is Sasha."

"My name's Anton."

"Thanks, Anton. I'm sure we'll be seeing you again."

At home, Casey was right there waiting by the door and he launched himself into Zeke's arms, wrapping his legs around Zeke's waist, forcing him back against the door. It was not particularly comfortable when one wore a backpack full of sharp-angled books, the edges of which were finding all the soft spots in his back — but he ignored that, manoeuvring his bag off his shoulder while holding Casey and staggering into one of the kitchen chairs. Casey was in an almost manic state, smothering his lips with one tremulous kiss after another. "Missed you," Casey said in a breathy whisper.

"Missed you, too....okay...need oxygen now, Case."

Casey had put his feet down, straddling Zeke's lap. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"Sasha's got a date."

"Really?"

"We got the phone and he decided to call...his name's Jerry...and I called that relaxation therapy place."

"When is the appointment?"

"They don't have appointments, they just kinda do orientation sessions. The next one's Thursday."

"So the phone-shopping was okay?"

Casey put on a coy expression, and began to nuzzle at Zeke's neck. He murmured, "I freaked out like usual."

"Freaked...?"

A moist tongue drew a trail up his throat, ending with a nibble on his Adam's apple. "Are you mad?"

"No," Zeke gasped. "Why would I...Of course not."

"What movie did you get?"

Zeke dodged Casey's next oral assault, twisting sideways. "Casey, I want to know what happened."

Casey backed up, sliding off Zeke's lap. Standing in front of Zeke, he wore a distinctive hybrid of a pout and a scowl, one that made Zeke want to cuddle and molest him at the same time. "Nothing," Casey said sullenly. "I got scared. Alert the media."

"Why is that suddenly nothing?"

Casey's eyes got suspiciously shiny.

"I won't ignore it if I think that you're hurting, Case."

"I'm not hurting I'm great now, I'm at home and you're at home so let's stop fucking talking about me!" Casey was shaking now. There was a wet trail on one cheek. "What movie did you get?" he asked again, brushing at his face.

Zeke was left staring and trying to figure out how to interpret this — oh, fuck it, any way you wanted to parse it, this was anger. Casey had a lot of anger, it was finally unleashed, and some of it was going to be unleashed on Zeke.

"Singin' in the Rain?"

Casey's whole demeanour changed in an instant. The scowl disappeared and a smile suffused his face. "I didn't think you liked musicals."

"I don't, really. Anton recommended it."

"Anton?"

"The guy at your movie place."

Sasha appeared from the hallway, no doubt having heard the last bit of this exchange. "What did Anton recommend?" he asked.

Zeke sighed. "Singin' in the Rain."

"Ooh, that's one of my favourites!"

"Biting my tongue..." Zeke returned.

Sasha smirked. "Don't hold back on my account." He turned a more genuine smile on Casey and said, "Can't wait to watch it."

At this Casey looked extremely perplexed, and Zeke asked, "Don't you have a date?"

"A date? I invited Jerry over here to hang out with us." Sasha's eyes flickered uncertainly between Casey and Zeke. "If you can call that a date. I'm not going anywhere tonight," he finished, directed at Casey.

Casey was doing something jerky and painful-to-watch with his hands. "You said you would go."

"I did not. I thought we got this sorted out."

"You said you would call."

"I did call. This was the outcome, which I didn't get to tell you just yet because you were asleep until a few minutes ago."

Zeke was close enough to Casey that he could see his mouth forming shapes and sounds that were barely words.

"Kitten, I thought we learned our lesson yesterday about trying too hard."

"Not trying too hard," Casey choked out. "Just trying. Just fucking trying!"

"And so I called Jerry and invited him here to do pizza and a movie with us. That's the best I can do. If you really want to do something for me you'll accept that I want to stay here, because if I go I won't have a good time, I'll just end up worrying all night."

Zeke put a hand on Casey's arm, thinking of offering simple comfort. "Don't be upset, okay...maybe you should — "

Casey flung Zeke's hand off. "I don't want a fucking pill!" Almost before the words finished reverberating off the walls there was the switch-up, Casey's expression making another sudden transformation, from rage to horror. "I'm sorry!" he whispered. "Oh, god, I'm — I'm —" He broke and ran to his and Zeke's bedroom.

"It's been like this all day," Sasha said tiredly. "Everything's getting to him just that much more."

"That's okay by me," Zeke challenged, keeping his voice low.

Sasha scowled at Zeke. "Of course it's okay! I love that he's arguing with us...but it's scaring him to death."

Zeke nodded hurriedly, not wanting Casey to hear them discussing him. "I'll talk to him."

Casey was face-down on their bed, shoulders heaving. Zeke sat down as slowly as he could, giving Casey plenty of time to notice his presence.

"You can't expect us to stop worrying about you, Case."

Casey didn't move, speaking into the dark little place he had made for himself inside his arms. "But it's... always the same thing every day every day scared to go out scared to be alone...couldn't even get coffee, couldn't get my money out and the guy was – was really mad and everyone behind me was mad and looking at me thinking poor fucked-up kid, poor mental case... Then this afternoon I couldn't...Sasha had to do it..."

Zeke had resorted to stupidly petting Casey's shoulder. "But look at what you did today, you should be proud — "

"Don't — say that. Don't use that word...please."

"Why the hell not?"

"Just don't."

"Okay..." Zeke said, being as upbeat as he dared. "But you know, things are settling down. I'm starting to feel like a student...I did go to my class this afternoon and I'm getting ready to write a paper soon. In fact, I'm meeting with a class-mate tomorrow to discuss it with her."

Casey's shoulder remained stiff under Zeke's hand. "Her."

"Yes, her. Someone I met in class. Winona." Zeke teased Casey's hair. "You can't possibly be jealous."

After a pause: "No."

"Can I see your face, then? Maybe get a kiss?"

Casey rolled over and peered up at Zeke with wet eyes, looking every bit of a beautiful mess. Zeke snagged a tissue from the box on the nightstand and handed it to him. Casey used it, then curled his body so his head and shoulders were lying in Zeke's lap.

"Come on," Zeke said, stroking his hair. "Sit with me in the living room. I've been looking forward to crashing all day. Besides, we need to be in position to heckle Sasha's date when he gets here."

This earned a half-giggle, and Casey was on his feet momentarily, looking much calmer if still rather teary. Without a word he stepped into Zeke's embrace, laying his head on Zeke's chest.

"You'll be okay with this guy coming over?" Zeke asked him.

He felt Casey nod, perhaps not as enthusiastically as he would have liked.

"Tired?"

Another nod.

He tilted Casey's face up with a finger under his chin. "You're brave," he said softly. "Did you know that?"

Casey shook his head, flushing.

"You are. I meant it before and I mean it now. You've taken some big steps lately, whether you want to hear it or not."

Casey hid his face against Zeke. "I wish today was over," he said.

"It's just pizza and a movie. Hanging out, having fun...you know, fun?"

"I've heard of it."

Zeke angled sideways, trying to get a glimpse of Casey's eyes. Finally, Casey raised his head, and he was smiling a little. Zeke snagged himself a kiss, and took Casey's hand, leading him back to the living room.

They watched the Comedy Network together for an hour or so. Occasionally, Casey laughed at a gaffe or some particularly witty bit, and Zeke tried not to feel too euphoric over such little things. He put his brain on hiatus, hoping that he would feel refreshed when their guest arrived. His fatigue had worn a comfortable groove into him now, and he was ready to carry on to the end of the day, albeit with the pleasurable anticipation of hitting his bed. He heard Sasha moving around in the other side of the apartment, going into the bathroom, then the shower running, and then the hair blower followed by a long silence while Sasha performed his cryptic rites in privacy.

The Simpsons came on, and the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Sasha hollered.

Then, unexpectedly, he showed up in the living room. Zeke had the uncomfortable suspicion that Sasha was checking on what they were wearing, that they were suitable to receive company. Sasha's ensemble was several notches above what one would normally wear for hanging around the house, and his hair was looking perfect, falling in longish brown waves.

"Casey...you sure you're okay with this?" he asked. "Because we don't have to do it. I can just explain to Jerry and — "

"No," Casey interrupted. "I'm okay."

To Zeke's ears he wasn't completely convincing, but Sasha nodded and hurried off to answer the door. Zeke caught a waft of Sasha's scent; it was sweet and spicy without being in the least bit cloying.

Zeke turned down the volume on the TV so he could eavesdrop. He heard, "Hi, Jerry...Come on in...Welcome to our humble abode."

"Very nice," said a moderate, tenor voice.

"Wait until you see the roof. Here, I'll take that."

"I brought dessert."

"How lovely! Pizza and cheesecake, it doesn't get much better than that."

Zeke cringed. He heard a nervous little giggle from Casey.

"I'd introduce you to my roomies," Sasha was saying as their voices came nearer.

"This is really a great place..."

Now Jerry was in viewing range. He was a man of non-descript good looks and average height. He looked like he worked out but he wasn't bulky. His hair was brown, cut short and rather conservatively styled. Perhaps near Sasha's age, and with some of Sasha's interests, but that was all Zeke could see in him at the moment. He didn't seem like Sasha's ideal.

"This is Zeke," Sasha said, indicating him.

"Hey, man." Zeke lifted one hand in a wave.

"And sitting next to him, that's Casey."

"Hey," said Jerry.

Zeke had the impression that Jerry gave Casey a much longer look than was polite for just meeting someone. Meanwhile, Casey didn't say a word. His hand tightened on Zeke's until it hurt.

"So it's a double date, huh?" Jerry said, evidently struggling to fill the gap.

"Yep," Sasha answered. "Go ahead, have a seat. Do you want something to drink? We have beer and some wine."

"I'll have a glass of white if you have it."

"Oh. Sorry, no. Just red."

"That's okay, I'll just have a beer then."

Sasha went to fetch Jerry's drink, and the only sounds left were Homer's antics in the background. Zeke wasn't in a mood to attempt conversation for conversation's sake, but he could feel Casey's growing unease beside him. Right now Casey would be scanning this person for signs of alien activity, watching for any indication that it wasn't safe to have him here, priming himself for a leap over the coffee table. Zeke felt some obligation to demonstrate to Casey that this person was harmless — and if he wasn't harmless then Zeke would deal with him.

"So...Has Sasha mentioned us at work?" Zeke asked.

Jerry smiled. "Um, yes, actually."

"Really. What does he say?"

"I don't think you want to know." The smile widened, and Zeke suddenly had an idea of what was attractive about Jerry.

"It couldn't be that bad." Zeke felt reasonably trusting that Sasha was not sharing the intimate and more provocative details of their lives at work.

"Um...I think he said that his friend Zeke was a college student."

"Nothing but the truth," Zeke said. "But there must be something else?"

"That you're brilliant and you know it," Sasha supplied, coming in with a tall glass. He handed it to Jerry. "One beer up."

"What do I have here?" Jerry asked, taking a tiny sip.

"Heineken."

"Hmmm..."

"Is that okay?"

"Oh, yeah, great..."

"You could serve me a beer," Zeke suggested to Sasha.

"Or not!" Sasha rolled his eyes.

Zeke considered putting his arm around Casey and asking a second time, so that Sasha would get the message: He was not going to leave Casey alone with this man for one instant, not until he had finished making his own assessment of Jerry's character.

Instead, he asked, "What else did Sasha say about us?"

Jerry glanced at Casey. "Nothing much..."

Sasha cleared his throat. "I said I had a blue-eyed kitten at home..." He waited for Casey to retort or otherwise participate, and when there was no response he clapped his hands together softly. "So! Are people hungry?"

"I'm starving," Zeke said.

"When aren't you?"

Jerry proposed, "I was thinking we could order from this place I know, they do these amazing sort of gourmet pizzas. Not the typical thing at all."

"I'm kind of fond of the typical thing," Zeke said. As far as he knew, Casey was a traditionalist when it came to pizza, and so was he for that matter.

"Okay, then," Jerry said. His comic-book thought bubble said, I'm in the company of unsophisticated rubes. "Pizza Hut it is."

"I don't like Pizza Hut," Sasha objected.

A few minutes of intense negotiation followed, at the conclusion of which they finally agreed to call a local pizzeria and get two large, one with just pepperoni for Casey and Zeke, and another with roasted garlic, chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, olives and feta for Sasha and Jerry. By then, Zeke had decided it was safe to get himself a beer. He deliberately didn't look at Casey when he got up; upon his return he found that Casey had moved into the corner of the couch farthest away from Jerry, and appeared to be expecting tentacles to burst from Jerry's mouth at any second.

 

God, how he wished the day was over and he could go to bed. The afternoon nap had done him little good. His legs were aching deep in the joints as though he hadn't slept in days. His thoughts were whirling this way and that, to no identifiable pattern — except at the epicentre of the maelstrom, there was a single nugget of data.

Zeke had met someone. No, not a someone. A woman.

Couldn't think, mustn't think about...Zeke deserved better than a whiny, suspicious bitch of a boyfriend. Casey wouldn't imagine what might happen, how Zeke might remember that he was not actually gay...oh, that was not fair either. Zeke had not wavered once since Herrington, to Casey's knowledge. But then, Zeke hadn't really been tempted and how could he be when he was constantly with Casey, always embroiled in Casey's problems, he hadn't even had a chance to do what he had come here for yet which undoubtedly included talking to people of the opposite sex so don't think, just fucking don't.

Or think about something else, like how he did not like Jerry. Jerry was not elegant like Sasha. He was too bland-looking except for his teeth, which were uneven. He obviously had no hesitation about sharing his opinions, of which there were plenty. He was a snob, too, Mister I'd-Prefer-A-White-And-What-Beer-Is-This-And-Why-Do-We-Have-To- Get-Ordinary-Old-Pizza. He even turned up his nose when he heard what movie Zeke had rented. Obviously his vast knowledge of most things didn't extend to the world of film, or he would have known that Singin' in the Rain was widely considered one of the great ones.

Casey could have forgiven Jerry all this if he had demonstrated the care and attentiveness appropriate to a first date with Sasha, but that was nowhere in evidence. Jerry was not besotted and agreeing with every word that fell from Sasha's lips like he should be. And worse, there was stuff going on in his head that he wasn't sharing. Zeke and Sasha must see that, surely. It might be nothing, but then...well, Casey would forgive a lot of things if he could just be certain that the man was what he appeared to be — as in, human. Casey would have been much happier with Jerry just standing out on the metal steps or up on the roof or out on the street, but here he was, having penetrated all the way to the living room, and since Sasha was trying very hard to be hospitable and Casey had insisted on having him here, he would have to try his very best not to care that this was a stranger, a complete stranger.

The pizza arrived and was consumed over a lengthy discourse between Jerry and Sasha about Pizzas We Have Known. Casey chewed on his mundane pepperoni and cheese and watched Jerry's jaw flap up and down until he couldn't watch anymore. It seemed like forever before they finally put the movie on; at that point Casey was more than ready to fade into it.

"You know what I think about Gene Kelly?" Jerry remarked, after the first song and dance. "I think he had a high opinion of himself...I mean, look at the way he's always mugging for the camera."

"I like him," Sasha said. "And not just because of the way his ass looks in those tight pants."

"Uh...I like that he's more — masculine — than you expect a dancer to be," Jerry allowed, squirming.

"He seems very athletic," Zeke said, and nudged Casey, no doubt expecting that Casey was in possession of some information on the subject. "But then most dancers are."

Casey folded his arms and stared at the screen. It was fine for Zeke to strike up a conversation, Zeke didn't mind arguing with people and people got used to it, from him. Zeke barely saw an argument as conflict; to him, it was just a way to exercise his brain.

"I always found Astaire kind of wimpy," Jerry said.

Sasha warned, "Casey's going to give us all detention pretty soon."

Jerry made a face and said to Casey, "You take your musicals that seriously?"

It seemed like he was trying to be amusing, but Casey found that he was shaking. Zeke must have felt it, for he tightened his arm about Casey and said, "Less talking, more watching."

It was okay for a while. Jerry was mostly quiet, although he did laugh at the right parts. Casey had almost managed to submerge himself in the gorgeous Technicolor of it all when Debbie Reynolds sang her first number and Sasha joined in unexpectedly with, "All I do, the whole night through, is dream of you..." To Casey's inexpert ears, Sasha had always seemed an okay singer, but as that was the only line he knew, he quickly fell back on "Bwa wa wa, bwa wa wa..."

"Fuck," Zeke said.

"What?" Sasha protested.

"Can you not sing?"

"Actually, no. I can't help myself, it's irresistible."

"I can assure you it is."

"Casey doesn't mind me singing, do you, kitten?"

"He minds," Zeke decreed.

Casey focussed on the screen with every bit of his attention, shutting them out, and it seemed that they took the hint.

For a few minutes. Jerry kept up his commentary, offering his perspective on each musical number. "Make ‘em Laugh" was "hyper" and "cool" and "Moses Supposes" was "just an excuse for a tap dance." Then when the three protagonists sang "Good Morning, Good Morning," Jerry declared, "That's the stupidest excuse for a song I've ever heard."

Casey heard himself say, with a kind of numb terror that had absolutely no power over his mouth, "Maybe you'd like to leave so you won't have to put up with it."

"Casey!" Sasha gasped.

Zeke made a choking sound that resembled a laugh.

Jerry was red in the face. "I beg your pardon, I didn't think anyone would feel so strongly about a silly musical."

"It's not, it's..." Casey started, and stopped himself, biting his tongue.

"Yes?"

He couldn't stand it. "It's a great film," he finished.

"According to who?"

"Roger Ebert, for one."

"Oh, well if Ebert says so it must be true."

"And Pauline Kael. And just about everyone else."

"Hey, hey, hey!" Sasha intervened. "We're all friends here, right? Just getting together to share some pizza and admire Gene Kelly's ass?" He gave Casey a begging look.

"I'm sorry," Jerry said. "Really. I'm sorry, Casey. Let's watch the movie, and I'll keep my mouth shut."

He did, too.

It was too late for Gene and Debbie, though. Casey couldn't get Sasha's pleading face out of his head and he felt sick, so sick that he couldn't face Gene stomping about in the rain. He couldn't even look at the screen. Once he managed a glance in Sasha's direction, and he was pretty sure that Sasha was staring disapprovingly at him. In fact, Sasha was probably wondering why he had ever agreed to live in the same apartment or the same city with him and was wishing that Casey would be the one to leave...Never mind that Casey had been right, but he shouldn't have talked, he shouldn't have argued...and that was just how it worked, right, they used your weaknesses, they turned people who supposedly were friends against you so they could get to your friends and when you tried to warn them no one believed you...

Someone grabbed him. He yelped, tearing his hand away and making everyone look...realizing only after it was too late that it was Zeke, trying to soothe him. But he was tired of being soothed. It really was this dangerous out here, strangers were especially dangerous, and he was tired of being the only one who did the remembering.

As the "Broadway Melody" ballet started, he ran for the bathroom, making a point of locking the door. Kneeling beside the toilet, he heaved and heaved until he was sure that on the next heave it would be his stomach lining coming up.

"Case?" came Zeke's voice, with a knock. "Unlock, please."

"No." He considered the shower. It would be his second time today, but the heat, the lovely, blissful heat on his skin...

"Casey, I want to talk to you."

"No!" he sobbed. He drove his fist sideways into the tub. It hurt like a fucker, maybe he even broke something — or if not, maybe he would get lucky this time —

"Casey!"

"No!"

"I want this door open."

"There was no deal!" Casey yelled. "You said that's the deal but there's no deal!" There was a long silence.

"Casey, please," Zeke said, at length.

He sounded tired, like he couldn't be bothered to come up with a better argument or even to just break the door down. Casey's head and his hand throbbed, and he wanted Zeke but he couldn't think, just couldn't think through this thing. He did trust Zeke, and Zeke was mere inches away and offering comfort — but it was two nights in a row and all day that Casey had been so terrible. He couldn't face Zeke, he couldn't face anyone and he wasn't going out there when that other was inside with them, he wasn't going to expose himself not knowing what that Jerry was under his skin, they just didn't know and he was in their home...

Casey slid down onto the floor with his back to the door, making himself small. He closed his eyes and let everything float.

Then it was Sasha's voice sidling under the door and around the cracks. "Casey...Casey...Do you hear me?"

His body was stiff and cold, a sure indicator that he had tranced out. He moved, untwisting his limbs, knowing they would hear it. "Yes," he said. The taste in his mouth was beyond disgusting.

"Will you come out?"

He wanted his bed. He wanted Zeke. Mostly, he wanted to be safe. "Is he still here?"

"Jerry? No, he's gone."

"Just...a sec..."

He had to brush his teeth, first. He did that quickly, then unlocked the door and stood before the two of them with his eyes on the floor.

"We didn't want to finish the movie without you," Sasha said, his voice so very gentle.

Casey almost started sobbing but managed to shove it down and back. He didn't deserve an expression of remorse, it was only one more thing for them to deal with when they'd already had enough. The only thing he was entitled to do, really, was to just exist and hope that didn't cause anyone any trouble.

"I'm...I'll just...go to bed," Casey stammered.

"No," Sasha said, sternly now. "It's still early. I want you to finish watching this movie with us."

Casey edged a look towards Zeke. Inexplicably, Zeke was grinning. "I don't know about you," Zeke said, "but I'm dying to find out how it ends."

And Sasha laughed, a full, hearty Sasha-laugh. Casey wondered if he had finally and truly lost his mind because this was not how they should be reacting, something was wrong. Suppose Jerry had done something to them and he had just left because he had finished doing what he had come to do...

"It's okay, Casey," Sasha said, suddenly, the mirth dropping off his face. He reached out, rubbed Casey's shoulder. "Everything's okay. We're just a bit giddy, is all."

Giddy? As in, happy? No, it had to be giddy as in shock, giddy as in still reeling from what Casey had managed to wreck this time.

"Come on, kitten."

He let himself be marched to the living room, where they re-settled, in their same positions as before — minus one stranger, Zeke throwing an easy arm around Casey's shoulders as they sat on the couch together. Zeke started the DVD over at "Good Morning, Good Morning."

Perhaps this was his punishment, to be forced to watch an upbeat, MGM musical with its hyper-real colours and its relentless charm. Casey stared at Debbie Reynolds's bright, smiling face and hated her. No one could possibly be that cheerful. She was wearing a stupid hat, the kind that had miraculously been in style in Hollywood in the forties. And it was a stupid song, Jerry wasn't wrong about that.

The next scene was the famous bit. Casey didn't want to watch. Every other time he had seen it, he had ended up with a huge, goofy smile on his face. He didn't want to be coerced into feeling happy. He was in a mood, see, he didn't want to be consoled or cheered, and this damned scene was like a narcotic. Whether or not he smiled was out of his control; it was cause and effect, it wouldn't mean anything.

"Ah," sighed Sasha as Gene closed his umbrella. "Magical."

Casey couldn't quite look away this time without seeming defiant. He looked, he saw, like he always did, so much joy in the dancing, in every move, every expression on Gene's face. The things he did with that umbrella, the way he became progressively more soaked as the dance went on, and the final, apparent abandonment of choreography to just splash about like a child.

By the end of it, Casey was smiling. He couldn't help it, and it quickly disappeared once the scene was over. At the conclusion of the film, Sasha uttered another great sigh. Zeke switched off the DVD player and the TV.

"That was good," he commented. "For a musical."

No one spoke for several seconds.

"Can I go to bed now?" Casey asked.

"You can do whatever you want, Case," Zeke said.

Casey stood up. He took a few steps away from them. He stopped, and spoke with his back to them.

"I'm sorry I'm so fucked up," he said. "I'm sorry I do this to you. Every day I...even...I try to make it different and — and — it only ends worse and..." He was almost crying now despite a desperate desire not to. "I can't change."

Not expecting to hear anything in response that he could actually survive, he all but ran for his room. He gobbled down a Xanax, because he knew he would never sleep otherwise and he didn't want to be awake when Zeke came in. Once his eyes closed, he heard nothing, felt nothing.

He woke lying towards the edge of the bed, very much on his own with his back to Zeke. He rolled over and saw that it was still early, only seven-thirty. Zeke would need to get up for class soon. He was on his side facing Casey, sleeping deeply it seemed. There were creases and shadows on his face that Casey didn't remember seeing before. In fact, Zeke had looked very tired yesterday but Casey had failed to notice it. He had failed to give anyone anything that they wanted or needed. Instead of routine, he had given them a farce.

Routine was still the only option, though.

The problem was not with the theory, but the theorist. It was the theorist who made everything screwy, trying to get from inspiration to practice. That Heisenberg had really known what he was talking about. The idea of something was inviolable, but the moment you touched it with your clumsy humanity, you mucked it up. Of course, Heisenberg didn't quite put it that way but —

Zeke's alarm clock went off. It was just the radio and not very loud, but Zeke pounced on it instantly.

Casey squeezed his eyes shut and made like he was sleeping. He heard Zeke breathe, envisioned him twisting around to see if Casey had been disturbed. Imagined him taking a long look, trying to unravel what the fuck had been going on in Casey's head last night. Then Zeke's weight pressed down for a second as he got onto his feet. Casey lay quietly, listening to the sounds of Zeke moving around in the apartment...Zeke shaving, Zeke taking a piss, Zeke getting dressed...Zeke going out the door.

Zeke meeting with this Winona person so he wouldn't be home immediately after school. The name was having a displeasing connotation; he kept picturing a petite woman with huge brown eyes, like a certain actress.

"Don't," he whispered to himself. "Don't think."

He had to focus for a few minutes here, if he could manage that much. Thank fucking god for Xanax. Xanax made it possible for him to wake up and get a glimpse of what he needed to do and set himself to it before everything went off the rails.

He got up, got dressed. He went to the kitchen and found the coffee filters easily. And the coffee, it was in the freezer where Sasha always kept it. He started the coffee-maker, and watched the black ink brewing with wistful satisfaction. It smelled so good, like morning and breakfast. He wanted some.

Instead, he boiled some water for tea while the coffee-maker burbled invitingly. So far they only had peppermint and chamomile...He chose chamomile. Taking it to the living room, he turned on the TV and watched the Today Show. He flipped channels for a while and when he got drowsy he closed his eyes for a bit.

"‘Jessica, your bid...?'"

He cracked his eyes open to Bob Barker's pure white coiffure. It looked very distinguished on him, kind of right, just like his suits and that funny little microphone that looked like a rod with a tiny bulb at the top that apparently was used only by Bob Barker.

"‘And Tod, your bid, please...?'"

"'One dollar'."

Roy had mocked Casey's occasional habit of watching The Price is Right. He had suggested that Casey was really a housewife in drag, that all he needed was a vintage 1950's flower print apron. He had said it with a small laugh, the kind that people used when pretending that they were kidding, and Casey didn't explain that he liked this show because it was familiar and mindless, that the rhythms of Bob's lines, exactly the same every day, were comforting.

"‘And the actual retail price of the bar set is...'"

Roy wouldn't have cared what his reason was, though. He only cared that Casey was behaving in some manner that would give himself away, and thus give Roy away. Once, when they were in a gallery and Casey was talking animatedly about one of the artists, Roy had suddenly taken his hand and pushed it down against his side, holding it there for several seconds like he hoped it would stick and not spring up again of its own volition.

God, he had screwed up that phone call. He hadn't said nearly enough. He hadn't gotten around to You absolute fucking coward! or Fuck off and die! and he wasn't going to get another chance. If he tried again, he might end up breaking some furniture.

"‘I need you up here, Tod — ‘"

"Hey, Casey."

He jerked into an upright position, saw Sasha standing nearby in his pajamas.

"Startled you again," Sasha lamented. "Sorry."

Casey sat up straighter. He wanted to speak, but couldn't think of a place to start.

"Is that coffee I smell?"

Casey nodded.

"And what is that you're drinking?"

"Tea."

"Black tea?"

"Chamomile."

Sasha nodded, satisfied. He got up, and Casey heard him pouring coffee for himself in the kitchen. Seconds later he was back with his favourite mug, sitting down next to Casey. He looked over at Bob Barker. "The Price is Right?"

"Yeah," Casey said. "I just like it, okay?"

"You don't have to justify it, kitten. I've been known to watch it myself."

They sat and watched the last fifteen minutes of the show together. Casey wondered if maybe Sasha didn't want to hear any talk about yesterday. Maybe Sasha would much rather he didn't do what he was apologizing for in the first place.

"Kitten..." Sasha began suddenly, and stopped.

"I don't know what to say," Casey whispered.

"You don't have to say anything."

"But I ruined your date."

"Nothing got ruined." Sasha put his mug on the table. "I told Jerry that we're working through some family problems and asked him if he and I could just start fresh and he seemed fine with that."

Casey hung his head. "I could call him and apologize."

"You really didn't like him, did you?"

He really wished that Sasha would spare him that tendency of blurting out the most uncomfortable truths, because it didn't much help him participate effectively in the conversation. "Um...I..." he stuttered.

"It's okay, you can tell me. But he isn't like that most of the time. I think he was nervous is all."

"Nervous because of the weird roommate," Casey grumbled.

"No, Casey. Nervous because you and Zeke both had him in your scopes from the second he came in. Usually on a first date a guy doesn't have to satisfy three people at once. But the good news is, he's had a full taste of my life now and what's important to me and he hasn't run away." Sasha reached for Casey's hand, gripping it warmly. "So you were really doing me a favour last night."

Casey dared a little grin. "By putting him through the ultimate test."

"Yes, exactly," Sasha smirked. "That must have been your plan all along."

"Oh, yeah...you bet."

"Good work, then. You put him through his paces all right, but he did pass." Letting go of Casey,'s hand, Sasha patted his knee. "Thanks for taking care of me, kitten."

Casey scanned that statement for evidence of irony or bitterness and found none.

He thought he was doing well at not crying until Sasha said, "Aw, don't cry, kitten, or you'll make me start crying too."

"I'm not."

"Oh, I see." Sasha rubbed his knee once more, then sat back and resumed watching the television for a few minutes. Then he said, "Do you want to go for a little walk with me later? Just to the store — and we can return that movie."

Routine, again. Except, after yesterday Casey didn't feel quite up to venturing outside so soon. He would be so fucking happy to just stay in all day, look forward to Zeke getting back...but he knew better than to consider Sasha's request a mere request. It sounded like a request, but if Casey declined, it would keep coming at him in different forms...wheedling, begging, ordering, threatening...until he surrendered.

So he would go to the grocery store and the movie place. He would probably live through it, although he was making no assumptions at this point.

 

"So," Winona said, "Basically, Plato was a sexist pig."

Zeke coughed. Another student who was sharing the common room with them twitched slightly. No doubt a grad student, sighing to himself over the pretensions of the latest batch of freshmen.

"I think that's a bit of an oversimplification," Zeke replied. "He did believe that all creative energy was inherently male, yes. To him women represented simple undifferentiated Matter. Matter equals earth equals dirty...It's a very Western concept, and so is the idea that everything can be divided into two...like Form and Substance. Somehow I doubt Plato was entirely responsible for it. I'll bet the idea was floating around for a long time before that."

"He had a huge influence, though."

"Yes, of course," Zeke said, making an effort to not feel impatient.

He glanced at the clock on the wall across from them. Just after three. Sasha would be leaving for work, so Casey would be alone now. Zeke was anxious to get back and reassure him that everything was okay. No doubt Casey had spent most of the day flogging himself for his outbursts last night — which, up to the point when Casey freaked out and locked himself in the bathroom, had been positively thrilling. To hear him bitching with Jerry over something that was important to him had been the best ten or fifteen seconds of Zeke's day. Once Sasha got over his shock at Casey's outburst, he had seemed every bit as happy about it as Zeke.

And Zeke had been pleasantly surprised by Jerry's reactions when Casey ran out of the room; extreme remorse went a long way towards changing Zeke's mind about the guy. Jerry kept saying, "I had no idea...I had no idea..." until Sasha managed to reassure him that he had not done anything criminal and he switched to tentative offers of help, revealing a considerate, even gentle, side. He didn't appear at all upset when Sasha asked him, very straightforwardly, if he would mind leaving. On his way out the door, he had promised to call Sasha.

So in the end no harm was done except what Casey had done to himself. He had left the bathroom with a face so desolate, he had to have been expecting to be executed on the spot. And then later, his speech to them...remembering it made Zeke's stomach hurt.

"I'm going to do Plato's theory about women for my paper," Winona declared. "What about you?"

"I don't know yet."

"It's only five pages, I know, but it feels like twenty. I haven't written a paper since high school and that was a few years ago." Winona sighed. "I'm so nervous."

"Don't be. Professors are people too."

"Yeah, people with Ph.D's."

"Doesn't mean they're too smart to give you a good mark."

"I wish I was as confident as you."

"Oh, it's all an act," Zeke assured her. He stacked his books up. "I'm going to have to get going."

"Home to the boyfriend, huh?"

Zeke furrowed his brow in warning.

"Sorry. I'm just trying to get a picture of what this person might be like who's so incredible you can't wait to go home."

"It's not so much..." Zeke started to say and trailed off as recognition took hold.

"Yes?"

"You're right. I can't wait to get home."

"I noticed."

"I'm madly in love."

"Well," Winona said, smiling oddly. "I'd like to meet him. Maybe one day soon we can study at your place."

"Maybe." Zeke was putting his books away, zipping up his backpack. "Nothing against you, it's just a bit complicated."

"Don't tell me. You've got him locked in a tower and he only sees you."

"Something like that." Heaving his bag onto his shoulder, Zeke said, "Bye."

"See you."

A short while later he ascended the steps to their tower; opening the door, he met with disaster. The kitchen was filled with smoke, and Casey was removing something completely blackened from one of Sasha's best pans. He spun at Zeke's entrance, holding a spatula in one hand. One big tear shimmered in each eye as Casey said mournfully, "Wanted to make supper."

Zeke had to work hard at not smiling. "There's a fan in here somewhere," he said, dropping his backpack.

"Oh...right." Casey found the switch on the stove and pressed it. He put the spatula down on the counter. "Sasha's gonna kill me."

"That seems a bit extreme. What were you cooking?"

"Grilled cheese and soup."

Zeke noted a pile of charred sandwich shapes. There was a pot on one of the back elements, containing what was trying to be cream of mushroom soup, but consisted mostly of large, glutinous lumps. He took the liberty of turning off all the burners and said, "Er...how about we go across the street to the diner?"

Casey moaned, "He's going to kill me."

Zeke recalled that Sasha had made quite a fuss about getting his kitchen gear — which of course had been abandoned in Cincinnati — packed and shipped to him in Seattle. Sasha had spent several hours on the phone from Herrington, trying to wheedle one of his friends into doing it for him, and the cost had been far from negligible. The kitchenware had filled six or eight large boxes.

"It's just a pan, Casey," Zeke declared.

"I know, but...but he probably paid like a thousand dollars for it."

Zeke couldn't resist the urge to just step in and wrap his arms around Casey. "I know he values you more than that."

"You don't know," Casey said into his shoulder. "He wranged on Roy one time for washing his cast-iron skillet with soap."

"I'll protect you from Sasha. Okay?" Zeke swayed their two bodies from side toside. "The dictator-chef shall not lay a finger on you."

Casey sighed, going with the rocking motion. "Zeke."

"Hmm."

"Don't want to go out there."

"I seem to recall they have grilled cheese on the menu."

"I don't want to."

"Have you been out yet today?"

"Yeah...with Sasha...went to the grocery store, and...we returned the movie."

There was a world of exhaustion behind those words. Zeke resolved not to ask.

"Okay. I'll walk over and see if I can get take-out." Parting from Casey and stepping back, Zeke saw an expression of perfect wretchedness. "What is it?"

"I can't do anything right."

"Oh, Case, come on. I'll buy a replacement for the fucking pan if it means that much to him. It's minor. Really." He was about to open the door and head out to the diner when inspiration took him and he blurted, "The thing is..."

He stopped.

Casey had turned back to the pan and was regarding it sadly. He had placed it in the sink and filled it with soapy water, no doubt hoping to hide it from Sasha for as long as possible. "What?" he said, distracted.

"The thing is you say you can't change — but you change every day. Just about every hour, in fact. I'm never going to give up on you because I'm dying to see who you're going to be in another minute."

Casey didn't say a word. He just stood there, looking stunned.

Zeke swallowed hard, willing himself to continue. "I never get tired of looking at you. I can look at you for hours. I want everyone to see you and realize how insanely beautiful you are. I want them all to come here, or you to go out there so they'll look at me and think what a fucking lucky bastard that guy is."

A slow but genuine smile had begun to curve Casey's lips.

Zeke shrugged. "I can't sing and I can't dance, but I can talk."

"Thank you," Casey whispered.

"Any time," Zeke muttered. "Um...yeah."

He thought he had better get out of there before he started kicking the floor and uttering words like "shucks" and "darn" — but he wasn't going anywhere now because Casey had him by the collar; his hand slid around Zeke's neck, gently but insistently tugging his head down while he strained up, sending his entire self by mouth. A million more words that Zeke couldn't quite speak went kamikaze on all his nerve endings, clumping up together in a big mush of feeling. He got a hand under Casey's ass, rejoicing in the hard heat that he felt against his own swelling cock, and then his other hand went where the first had gone, cupping Casey's buttocks and lifting him as he bore them a few steps backward, pressing Casey against the wall.

Casey moved from Zeke's lips to his ear, where he now had easy access. "You talk real good," he whispered, and ran his tongue down along the inside of the shell, biting the lobe gently.

The ear-to-cock connection was doing mad things to Zeke's head, driving all his thoughts in a southerly direction. "I've been told," he gasped. "I have...a real talented mouth."

"You do...could...get off just listening to you..."

Zeke squeezed his hands down between them, undoing Casey's jeans. "Talking's not all I want to do, though," he said hoarsely, which was an extreme understatement. Ever since the other night when he saw how he could make Casey respond to him, he had needed to do everything, try everything. Repeatedly.

As he slid a hand down Casey's groin, he felt his body leap and arch against him. Inexplicably, Casey put a hand on his wrist, like he wanted to stop him, maybe about to say something about the fact that they were going to make it right here in the hallway. It was not much of an attempt though, and Zeke easily brushed that hand aside. He found Casey's aroused cock, stroked it almost reverently, ecstatic when Casey moaned and undulated between him and the wall. That erection had been an ephemeral thing between them, but now it was hot and real in Zeke's hand. Zeke hooked his thumbs around Casey's jeans and underwear and pulled, following them down so that he was kneeling in front of Casey. He lifted Casey's feet one at a time, gently slipping his clothes off and pushing them off to the side.

So here he was, face to cock. An aroused cock, balls, a light thatch of groin hair, all within reach of his mouth. Three months ago he would have laughed or punched anyone who suggested he might ever be here, and he didn't care. Parts were parts were parts, and this was one part of Casey that he was going to enjoy right now. His only anxiety was that this was trickier than it always felt from the receiving end. The anxiety did nothing to diminish his own excitement, though; his own erection was trying to fight its way out of his pants.

"Zeke — " Casey said, putting a hand near Zeke's shoulder as though to stop him from what he was going to do. "I don't — need — you don't have to — "

Zeke was going to ignore that — until he looked up and saw the genuine dread on Casey's face. He stroked Casey's thigh, teased his cock with a few fingers to keep him hard and watched all his body clench and arch slightly.

"No fear, Case."

"...but...don't have to."

"This has nothing to do with have to...except I have to...know everything I can do to you. I've gotta see the look on your face when I do...this."

He breathed on the tip of Casey's cock, tentatively circled it with his tongue, and then trained his eyes again on Casey's face. He couldn't get a glimpse of Casey's eyes, as they seemed to have rolled up towards the ceiling. Casey's hands stuttered somewhere in the vicinity of his chest; a few choked sounds emerged from his throat.

"Interesting," Zeke murmured.

He plunged down, took as much of Casey into his mouth as he could and sucked, moving back along his length, noting that it didn't taste strange or different; it only tasted like Casey would if all of Casey were hot steel and silk.

Zeke looked up just in time to see Casey trying to crawl backwards up the wall crying, "Fuck! Oh — fuck!"

Had he ever been hesitant to do this? If so, he was a complete fucking idiot. Just the sound of Casey's voice, and knowing that it was Zeke's, that he had made it, the absolute fucking power...

Zeke put his hands on Casey's hips and forced him flat against the wall. He turned all his concentration to his quickly developing skills, wanting to call forth every possible contortion from Casey's body. He found it was very difficult to take an entire cock into his mouth without gagging — but maybe with practice he could do it. In the interim, just applying suction to the head and alternating that with some creative licking was getting a steady procession of moans and choked little noises that made Zeke shiver to hear. Once or twice Casey almost writhed from Zeke's control, but he brought him sternly back with the grip on his thighs. When Casey's knees began to shudder, Zeke placed his hand flat on his belly and commanded, "Stay where you are."

"Zeke..." Casey's voice cracked, breath coming and going frantically. His stomach and thigh muscles were quivering. "Zeke."

Zeke heard a particular note of desperation and knew it was not the night to linger and practice his technique; Casey was in no condition for a sustained encounter. "It's okay," Zeke murmured, and moved in to finish, his hands creeping around to hold and squeeze Casey's buttocks while he increased the pressure with his mouth.

"I...I...oh! Fuh — "

Zeke made an extra effort, using a finger to stroke between Casey's buttocks, and to just caress his opening. He was looking forward to doing more, but then Casey came with a strangled sob.

It would be a nice gesture to swallow, Zeke thought — but the taste shocked him and his subconscious sent up an abrupt message, reminding him of Casey's caution the other night, his care that they used a condom. So he had no choice but to let Casey's sperm dribble out of his mouth. He waited a few seconds, stroking Casey's thigh, then zipped down the hall to the bathroom. He spit in the sink and quickly gargled with some water. Not romantic, that, but he didn't want to give Casey any more worries either.

He wet a washcloth and returned to find Casey crumpled against the wall, crying with his release, his body still twitching spasmodically. Zeke slid down and cradled him, gently cleaning Casey's groin with the cloth. The action was bizarrely thrilling, arousing his still-confined erection another degree, but he was quite prepared to ignore his own body's needs. When Casey's hand crept in that direction, Zeke intercepted it, holding it against his chest.

It seemed that Casey couldn't speak for some minutes. When he could, it was to gasp, "What...what about you?"

"I'm fine right now," Zeke said. He closed his eyes, still holding Casey's hand tightly, resisting the urge to plunge his own hand down into Casey's crotch and bring him to arousal again, and to release, and then again arousal...but Casey was still trembling, completely without resources at the moment, sitting half-naked on the floor pressed against Zeke.

"Hey," Zeke said. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..."

It sounded more like a question than an answer. Zeke frowned and asked, "You sure you're okay? I know I was a bit intense."

"Let me do something for you?" Casey whispered.

"Later," Zeke said firmly.

"But..." Casey nuzzled under Zeke's chin. "You know you want to."

"I can wait."

"Or you can fuck me up against this wall."

The image shocked through Zeke. The ache in his jeans became agony. "Is that possible?" he had to ask.

Casey breathed up at him, "It's possible."

Instinct howled something, and Zeke listened even though he couldn't quite make out what it was saying. "Not right now," he said. "Okay?"

There was a pause. He couldn't see Casey's face.

"Okay."

He helped Casey onto his feet. Casey was not meeting his eyes, and he felt quite sure that he had done right.

"You...didn't mind?" Casey asked him suddenly.

"No, Case, I didn't mind. I most definitely was the opposite of minding. In fact, I plan to keep practising that until I become totally proficient."

"Oh, god," Casey muttered, and Zeke laughed, feeling quite pleased with himself.

Casey was, he noted, still shaking. Whatever else was going on, Casey probably needed to eat something. "Will you be okay while I go out and get us some food?" Zeke asked.

Nervous, blue eyes searched his. "But Zeke, you haven't..."

"I'm fine, Casey. I'm great, and there's plenty of time."

He kissed Casey, unable to resist a good look at his ass as he sent him off in the direction of the bedroom.

An hour and a half later they were comfortably ensconced on the couch, a baseball game on the big screen, surrounded by several empty styrofoam containers. The Bayview Diner had provided them with a club and a rueben, an order of fries, and some home-made mulligatawny soup. Zeke was pleased to see that Casey consumed his equal share of it all.

"So tomorrow it's back to the doctor," Zeke noted, around a belch.

"I know."

"Are you nervous?"

A pause. Casey's expression had gone a bit stiff. "I'm trying not to think about it," he said flatly.

"I'll be going with you."

"That's — "

"Not negotiable, Case." He braced himself, but there was no real reaction. He added, "It's for me. I don't entirely trust anyone else with you." Zeke put his empty beer bottle on the coffee table. "What about the other stuff? The yoga or whatever, when was that again?"

"Relaxation therapy. Thursday. And then I have to go three times a week." Casey sounded very tired at the prospect of relaxation.

Zeke removed a plate from Casey's lap that held nothing but a few crusts of bread and some errant fries. "I'm sure it won't be that bad."

"No," Casey said. "I guess not."

Zeke thought he detected a slight tremble in Casey's voice.

"Case...are you okay?"

Zeke was fascinated by the multiple tiny things that Casey did with his face, starting the procession from Step One — increase space between brows — to Fifty- Something where he was almost looking content, or at least content to be in Zeke's company, and then to the finishing touch which would be a statement: "Yeah, I'm good."

Zeke put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, working the muscle gently. "How about we try a little home relaxation therapy?"

Casey flicked a glance at him. "Such as?"

"A massage, for starters."

"Seems to me I owe you one of those."

"I'm all for mutual massage. Turn around."

With shrug, and a bit of a smile, Casey twisted so he had his back to Zeke. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt over a tee; Zeke removed the top layer so he would have better access to his shoulders and arms. He groaned when Zeke's hands got deep into his neck muscles, and let his head hang. Zeke congratulated himself, and just kept working in silence.

"Feels good?" he asked after several minutes. He knew that he was staring at the back of Casey's neck like a starved vampire. His cock had reacted almost instantly to Casey's proximity...and the sounds he made as Zeke pounded the knots out, and his scent, and his tantalizing, perfect skin...hell, yeah, it felt good, and it tasted even better.

"Mmm," Casey said.

"More relaxed?" Zeke ran the tips of his fingers lightly over Casey's skin. He'd had a massage once when he'd strained something in his back during a game. He remembered the masseuse ran her fingers over him like that at the end, like she thought she had raised all the bad energy to the surface of his skin and was now using the pads of her fingers to mop it up.

Casey shivered. "Don't know," he said.

Zeke couldn't bear it one more second; he leaned forward, letting his lips smoothly follow his hands...kissing the side of his neck, behind his ear...then his throat as Casey tilted his head back against him. Then it was Casey's lips, as Casey had twisted around to face him.

He almost yanked Casey in towards him, hadn't intended that to happen but Casey had been so willing to flow that way that Zeke overestimated the force needed to get them closer. He put his hands under Casey's shirt, wanting them to be skin-to-skin soon, tugging the shirt up to Casey's armpits. He ran his hands over that freshly exposed skin, up from belly to chest...toying with a nipple. He heard Casey's breath catch.

Suddenly they were falling back and he was lying on top of Casey, consuming him through his mouth. His cock was filled with demands too, demands that would not be ignored this time. He got one knee between Casey's legs, the other resting on the outside of his thigh. He didn't quite know where Casey's hands were and he was too busy trying to figure out how to touch and possess all of Casey at once to be concerned. He raised himself long enough to undo the snap and zipper on Casey's jeans, then ground his hips against Casey's, having disjointed thoughts about getting their erections into contact.

"Please," Casey whimpered.

Zeke thought that was a plea for more of the same and he was quite ready to respond — but unexpectedly, Casey's hands were pushing at him, trying to get hold of his wrists and push them off.

"Please...let me up."

Zeke came back to consciousness and realized that he had laid his arms over Casey's, pressing them up by his head while he gripped his hands tightly. He was up on his knees in an instant, struggling for balance on the soft cushions. Casey remained flattened and splayed on the couch, his limbs in disarray. His face was distorted with fear as he repeated the words: "Let me up...let me up."

"It's okay," Zeke said. "Okay, Case."

Casey was writhing, desperate to get out from under him. Zeke moved back, giving him room. He watched as Casey scrambled backward, pressed himself into the furthest corner of the couch, breathing frantically while he fumbled his shirt down. As he did that, Zeke caught a glimpse of what he had guessed at but not seen, even when he had the opportunity just minutes ago — bruises on Casey's arms from before, bruises that Zeke had made.

"Casey..." Zeke whispered. "Oh, fuck...Case..."

Casey's fingers were pinching the flesh of his upper arms convulsively. Zeke could only watch while he panted and gasped, his eyes staring, wheezing...and the breathing became sounds, and then suddenly the sounds were words. "...not her...not her...not her..."

Zeke had to close his eyes. He needed time to push everything that was about him — the guilt, the jealousy, the sick part of his brain that never stopped analyzing and drawing its conclusions and was starting to have a pretty solid idea what had gone on at the end between Casey and Roy — push it all into a little tiny box. He would open it later when he had the luxury of more time to wallow.

"I'm here, Case," he affirmed, opening his eyes. Because he was not going to abdicate and run off into the night screaming this time. He was going to deal.

A wild glance flew at him. "Zeke?"

He nodded, offering a welcoming smile.

"Z-Zeke," Casey gulped out, teeth chattering. He was still pressed into that space, as far from Zeke as he could get. "Zeke."

"I'm here," Zeke said again.

A single tear ran down that bloodless face. "I — I'll be — okay."

"That's good..."

"I'll — be — okay in a s-second."

"Okay."

"I'll — I'll make you feel — feel good — "

Zeke made a point of breathing. "Do you know what would make me feel good?" he asked quietly.

"I know, I c-can — "

"Shush, do you know what would make me feel good?"

Casey stared at him, panting. He jerked his head left and right, unable to execute any kind of unified motion. "I — "

"I'd like for you to come over here and let me hold you. That's all it'll take, Casey."

"Dunno."

"I do know. We'll just sit side by side here and watch TV — or we could watch The Philadelphia Story if you like."

More tears got free, drawing tracks down to Casey's mouth and chin. There were no mistaking the longing in Casey's face now — the simple longing for Zeke to get him out of his corner.

Zeke didn't feel in the least bit ridiculous in throwing his arms wide. "C'mere."

If it were physically possible, he thought Casey might have dived into them. As it was, it only took half a second for Casey to cross the length of the couch and then he was pressed up against Zeke, head against his shoulder, and Zeke could feel every tremor, every rattle of fear. Zeke tried to imagine that it was his body absorbing the tremors, that the fear was leaving, travelling through Casey's fingers and out his pores and from his breath, all going into Zeke, dissolving harmlessly.

"Casey...I'm so sorry," he said.

"No..."

"I mean, I wasn't paying attention — well, obviously. Like Sasha said. I wasn't thinking with my actual brain." He stroked Casey's hair. "Do you want to watch the movie?"

Casey shook his head.

"You want to just sit together?"

"Yeah."

"Fine by me."

"No talking."

"No talking," Zeke agreed. "Anything else?"

"Put the TV on?" Casey whispered.

"Okay. Any particular channel?"

"Anything but the news."

Zeke did as Casey asked. He watched Jeopardy, and then MTV, and then just surfed. He didn't know if Casey was seeing any of it because all the while, Casey was pressed against him like every square of inch that he got into contact with Zeke's skin made a difference and Zeke could feel Casey's breath and eyelashes against his neck and had the impression that Casey's eyes were closed.

Unexpectedly, and rather painfully after all that close, clinging contact, Casey pulled their flesh apart, making a gutter about a foot wide between them. He said something inaudible.

"What?" Zeke asked.

"I'd like to sleep on the couch, please."

Zeke paused for half a second. "No," he refused. "That's not acceptable. You're safe with me, Casey. I'll just hold you — or not hold you if that's what you want, but I'm not letting you sleep on the couch."

He held his breath.

"Okay," Casey said — and then bent over, trying to hide his face with two clenched fists.

Zeke gave up on saying anything meaningful at this moment. Putting his arm around Casey, he pulled, half untwisting Casey's body and cradling him. Casey went with the momentum, taking hold of Zeke's shirt with one hand. "Such a mess," he muttered dully, speaking into Zeke's ribcage. "Like he said."

Suddenly Zeke wasn't lacking for a point to make. "Did he tell you that? He can go fuck himself, Case, and the same goes for me. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that way."

He thought he felt Casey relax just the tiniest bit — or perhaps it was Casey sagging with exhaustion. "I know how crazy I am."

"You're not crazy, Casey."

"What would you call it, then?"

"Angry, and hurt. But you're getting better."

"Don't feel better."

"You will."

Casey didn't say anything. He was almost limp against Zeke's chest.

"You know," Zeke said carefully. "I think we're both pretty much wrecked. "What say we go to bed now?"

"Yeah," Casey breathed.

"Do you want a Xanax?"

After a pause, Casey shook his head. After their usual bedtime rituals, they retired to the bedroom. Casey lay down inside the circle of Zeke's arms and closed his eyes. Zeke was pretty sure he was pretending to sleep, but he didn't call him on it. He did some pretending himself, but ultimately was able to fall into a real sleep.

When he woke the next morning, Casey was already up; Zeke found him eating breakfast with Sasha, both of them at the kitchen table. Zeke joined them, watching Casey and watching Sasha watch Casey. No one was talking. Casey's eyes were blue-black shadowed, and his hands shook. Halfway through his bowl of corn flakes, he bolted. Zeke heard the vomiting, and then right on cue, the shower started up.

Zeke sighed to himself. Nothing was ever easy, he'd figured that out early on. So he was not going to let an obstacle or ten get to him. He was going to keep dodging and blocking until he was in the clear.

"What did you do now?" Sasha burst out.

"Good morning to you, too."

"No, it is not a good morning. Why is it that every time I leave you two alone for an evening, I end up regretting it? Don't you think I'd like to go to work and have nothing to think about but chopping vegetables and straining sauces?"

"Hey, I have an idea," Zeke said. "How about you just lay off? You know how it is. We're up then we're down and, well, right now we're down."

"But what happened?"

Zeke folded his arms. "Is my private life ever going to stop being your business?"

"What. Happened."

"I don't entirely know, okay? We were having a perfectly good evening and — "

"And?"

Zeke was about to explain, as much as it could be explained without it getting embarrassing — but it occurred to him then that he really didn't have to. This was between himself and Casey, and Sasha could only be as involved as they let him be. He could know everything or he could not. It was time for not.

"What always happens? Stuff. Things." He presented Sasha with a determined mask. "Things happen and we'll work it out. I'm sure he's just freaked about going to the doctor today."

"No. That's not getting it done, Zeke."

Zeke struggled with a very nonconstructive urge to tell Sasha to go fuck himself. He amended, "Okay, how about this? He said no and I listened."

With a suspicious angle to his head, Sasha retorted, "And that's all."

"Well, that's all I'm going to say about it."

Sasha's hands closed on the end of the table.

"Trust me," Zeke added.

"Zeke..." Sasha started, then cut himself short with, "All right."

"All right?" Zeke echoed, managing not to perform a triple take.

"Yes...as it happens, I made a promise to Casey the other day that I would butt out."

"You're doing great with that so far."

Sasha took a long breath. "I'm sorry. A momentary lapse. You do understand how difficult it is for me? It's not like I can just switch off the worrying."

"I know." Zeke got up and wandered into the kitchen to find some breakfast for himself.

"And I'm going with you to the appointment," Sasha called after him.

Where Sasha couldn't see it, Zeke smiled a bit. "Of course you are," he said. His eyes fell on the soapy pan that was still in the sink. He added in his most mature and serious voice, "Oh...there is one thing I need to tell you."

"What?" Sasha asked, alarm rising in his voice.

Zeke did a quick audio check; yes, Casey was still under the running water in the bathroom and shouldn't hear this. "I ruined one of your pans."

"You what?"

Sasha came barging into the kitchen, and quickly identified the corpse of his beloved. He poured out the water and moaned, "Oh, how did I miss this? Oh, my poor baby..."

"It's a fucking pan."

"It's fucking trashed! What did you use it for? A chemistry experiment? Starting up your little home drugstore again?"

"Actually, it was Casey who burned it."

Sasha's expression as he attempted to dampen his initial response was as good as anything on the Comedy Network. "Oh."

"I just wanted to see what your reaction would be if I told you I did it. He was really upset, but I told him that he means more to you than a pan. He insisted that you would freak out. Looks like he was right."

"You're twisted, Zeke."

"No, I'm brilliant and I know it."

"I'm going to smack you."

"Sorry," Zeke said, smirking. "I couldn't resist. Look, I'll buy you a new one."

"Nevermind. It isn't important." Sasha cocked an ear. "Sounds like he'll be out of there soon." He put the pan back where he had found it. "I guess it's time for me to teach Casey how to cook — but I won't bring it up right now. He's already got himself worked up enough."

 

At least the waiting room was more empty than full this time. And this time he had Sasha and Zeke sitting on either side of him. Pathetic as he was, he was glad that he could feel both Sasha's arm and Zeke's hand touching him, guarding him.

"It's going to be okay," Sasha whispered to him.

There was no point in disputing that. Casey nodded, trying not to condense himself into a little ball on his plastic chair.

Maybe he was changing, but it couldn't possibly be for the better. He tried and tried, and only made himself more miserable. And what about Zeke, who had given so much yesterday and had gotten absolutely nothing out of it except another round of histrionics. He hadn't asked Casey about it and Casey was desperately hoping that he wouldn't, because he didn't want to remember the feeling that made him crawl away from Zeke and cower in a corner...It was about emptiness, a crushing horror and something pressing on him so that he couldn't breathe, something opening him up and devouring him. He didn't want to remember and he wouldn't...certainly not when he was with Zeke. It wouldn't get between them, he absolutely couldn't let it — but he hadn't gotten a chance to show Zeke that because Zeke didn't let him and maybe it was too late.

And now he was somehow to go into that exam room and show the doctor how he was getting well except he hadn't slept at all last night and he was sick again this morning and he didn't see how he could hide any of it from her. She was going to be looking at him with those sharp doctor's eyes, looking for signs that he was failing, and she was going to find them.

He didn't know why he even wanted to try.

"Casey Connor?"

Casey stood up reluctantly, flanked by Sasha and Zeke. He couldn't be sure, but he thought it was the same prickly nurse as last time. She looked Casey's attendants up and down and raised her eyebrows.

"Are these two gentlemen going in with you? It's just a physical. Very routine."

Casey didn't answer. He wanted them to come in with him, but here was the thing: The doctor knew, and he knew, that nineteen year olds were supposed to be able to do certain things by themselves. They should be able to handle a simple physical examination, just like they were accustomed to paying for things once in a while, even if it was their father's money. They knew how to count and how to wash themselves. They made coffee sometimes, and sometimes they did things for their friends without being asked. They could drive, or take the bus by themselves at least. They didn't depend on others to take them here and there. They weren't one kind of normal and not another. They couldn't have it both ways.

Zeke and Sasha had already begun to protest.

"Case, I think — "

"Are you sure, kitten — "

"Yeah," he said. He forced himself to look directly at Zeke. "You'll be here?"

Zeke was shocked, but recovering enough to press his demands. "Of course, but — Casey, I really think I should come with you."

"It's the patient's decision," the nurse barked.

She made a gesture for Casey to follow her, and he did, quickly. The sooner it was over with...well, the sooner it was over. He didn't look back at Zeke and Sasha, lest he break and run to them and beg them to take him away from here, not that they would do it.

The nurse showed him into an exam room. It was a little on the chilly side. He sat on the table with his arms folded around himself, and he looked around at the posters and the collections of brochures and the Q-tips and needles and before he knew it, Dr. Chakri was in the room with him, holding a folder in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Good morning, Casey. How are you today?"

Today she was wearing a red turtleneck with black slacks, and she looked very pretty. Her voice was as pleasant as he remembered. He forced the muscles in his neck and shoulder to engage, producing a facsimile of a shrug. "Okay, I guess."

"You don't sound entirely sure."

He stared at her, lacking an answer to that.

"You look very tired. More than last time, even. Have you been sleeping?"

"Kinda," he rasped. He had wanted to try to sleep without taking a Xanax, and this was the result. He had forgotten how to sleep, on top of everything else.

"Kinda?"

"I couldn't sleep last night."

"Why is that, Casey? Were you nervous about today?"

He nodded.

"And that was the only reason?"

Forcing himself, he told her, "It's all... mixed up. Get anxious, take a pill, then I sleep but I can't do it when I'm supposed to."

"You've been taking the Xanax, then?"

"Yes."

"How often have you been taking them?"

"Um...well...every day."

Dr. Chakri put down her chart and looked directly at him, folding her hands on her lap. "What's been going on?"

"Nothing."

"I don't really think it's nothing, Casey."

"No," he admitted. "It's not, but I'm too tired...to explain it all."

"I see. When do you start therapy, Casey?"

"Next week...I think?" Zeke or Sasha could have confirmed it — but there was no Zeke or Sasha in this room. They were outside where he had left them. Where he wished he was. With them, and at home.

"You think?"

"Pretty sure."

Dr. Chakri wrote in her folder somewhat awkwardly, just holding it in her hand, parallel to the floor. "Okay. I'm not too concerned about the frequency of your Xanax use at this point. If it continues indefinitely, it will become more of a problem. It isn't that it's physically addictive, Casey, but what can happen is that you become dependent on it to maintain routine."

"Routine," he muttered. "I..."

"What's that?"

"I...haven't been doing too well with routine." His throat was aching.

"How do you mean?"

"Just..."

He trailed away in midsentence, seeing no point to finishing. He watched as his physician laid down her chart on the small counter nearby, and her pen. She waited for him, and when she saw that he wasn't going to elaborate, she said, "Well, Casey...How have you been doing with that homework I asked you to do?"

"Relaxation therapy...I have that tomorrow."

"And your diet and exercise?"

"Sasha cooks."

"Yes? What does he cook?"

"He...tries. Tries to be healthy...and I haven't had any coffee."

"Well, that's good. How about exercise?"

He shook his head. "Not really, my...my parents came to visit. It was...hectic."

"What about the dissociation, Casey? Have you had any episodes since I saw you last week?"

He nodded.

"How many times that you remember?"

He frowned, puzzling over that.

"I know," she said, smiling apologetically. "How can you remember something that you define as not-remembering? Just try, for me."

"Zeke would know," he said in desperation. "Or Sasha."

"I imagine that's true. But to the best of your knowledge? How many?"

He made himself think back. There was a long procession of events going back to — when? Maybe as far back the hospital. Day and night didn't really give him any help. There had been last week, the day they had to get his parents when he sat on the couch all day, terrified that Zeke wasn't ever coming back. Then in the museum there was a big blank spot right after he learned that Roy had sent him a letter, then next thing he knew he was home...then the movie theatre...and...when Zeke left him...and again he was terrified...and just yesterday.

"Five, I think," he said.

"Even with the Xanax helping?"

"Yes."

She was quiet, then asked, "It was an unusually stressful week, yes?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you'll be able to have a bit more routine now? Now that things have settled down?"

He didn't tell her that he had already tried believing that, and absolutely failed. In fact, if he tried one more thing he would probably destroy everything once and for all. He should tell her now...Take me away from them before it's too late...lock me up...

"Casey." The sweet little girl voice was a bit stern now. "There's no question that all of these things I've asked you to do are a lot of work, but they will make a difference. I wouldn't ask you to do them if I didn't think they'll help. Do you believe me?"

He nodded.

"So the next time you come, I'd like to see some improvement in getting that work done, and if none of that helps, then we can talk about trying other things. Okay?"

"Okay," he said quickly.

Dr. Chakri spent a moment reviewing the printed information on her chart. "I have the results of your blood test from last time. According to your blood count, your hemoglobin is below the normal range and that means that you're anemic, Casey."

He felt dim surprise, glancing up to meet her eyes.

"Do you know what anemia means?"

"Lack of iron in the blood?"

"More or less. Without that iron in your red blood cells, your body can't process oxygen, which can cause tiredness, and other symptoms...Do you find that you are cold a lot of the time?"

"Yeah."

"Dizzy?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, that could be the anemia. Now, there are all sorts of types of anemia, but I think it's most likely this is caused by a nutritional deficiency. I think it would be best to get you on an iron supplement. I would suggest the smaller dose since the larger one makes a lot of folks nauseous. So you'll have another pill to take, Casey."

She tried an encouraging smile. He couldn't bring himself to smile back.

Dr. Chakri went on, "It's very interesting that we found this, because anemia is known to trigger panic attacks."

That caught his interest. "Really?" he said.

She nodded. "It can cause disorientation and shortness of breath, which starts you thinking scary thoughts and wham — panic attack. So it will be really nice to see how much dealing with the anemia will affect your anxiety. I expect it will help a bit."

She left a silence that he was supposed to fill. He didn't make the attempt. He had decided he wasn't going to hope for too much. He was far too screwed up and one more pill wasn't going to fix it, but of course she wanted to feel that she had helped him, just like Zeke and Sasha.

"...so you'll need to ask Sasha to cook some liver for you one day soon."

"Hmm?"

"I was just saying that in addition to the iron supplement you should consume iron-rich foods. There are others besides liver, of course. Things like broccoli, dried fruits...oatmeal. Maybe you should start eating oatmeal every day for breakfast. Or Cream of Wheat."

He scowled, and she laughed gently.

"Well, there is always the liver. Some people do like it. In any case, I'm sure that between diet and the iron supplements, this is completely treatable." She paused. "Did you have any more questions for me about it?"

"No."

"Okay, so how about we move on to our physical?"

He was completely caught by surprise — although he really shouldn't have been. He knew why he was here. It was just that she had lulled him with her sweet little voice and her smiles and he wasn't expecting...

"Casey?"

"Do — do we have to?" he asked.

"Yes, Casey, I think we do. I'm going to step outside for a few minutes so you can change into a gown. There's one hanging behind the door. I'll need you to take off everything, okay?"

She smiled as she slipped out of the room.

He stripped mechanically. His hands dropped the robe twice before he got it on. He couldn't tie the laces in the back the first three or so times that he tried and frustrated tears were on his face by the time he finally got them done up. He was shivering on the bed when Dr. Chakri came back in.

She left her chart and pen off on the side, where she could get to it easily. "Okay, then...let's get your weight."

He obeyed, getting on the scale, not bothering to look as she fiddled with the counterweights.

"You've lost two pounds, Casey."

What did a nineteen-year-old do in response to that? He lowered his head and cried. There was just nothing else he could do, even though he didn't want to, god how he didn't want to, he was just so tired of being helpless and he had come in here hoping...that he could somehow hide from her but of course it was useless. She knew what questions to ask and she could see what was obvious: The cliche was true, he wasn't meant for this world. He broke things and he got broken. He didn't belong here.

"Casey." Dr. Chakri touched his arm and said softly, "What's wrong?"

"I...I...t-tried...I eat..."

"I believe you."

"...b-but...always get-getting sick...It's no good why don't you just put me away!"

He fully expected to hear her agree. Instead, he heard, "You think you belong in a hospital?"

"Might as well be in one....I'm useless...can't go to the movies can't get coffee Sasha can't go on a date or even have people over...can't do anything."

"Being in a hospital would be a way of disappearing, wouldn't it?" It was not really a question. She guided him off the scale with a hand on his arm, saying, "Casey."

He sat on the bed as directed. "Wh-what?"

"I'm going to re-ask you those questions I asked last time."

"Which — questions?"

"The ones from last time, about your emotional and mental state. Ready?"

He hunched, letting his shoulders slump as low as they would go. He would answer her questions but the real problem was just that he was far too much trouble. If she didn't believe him she could call Zeke and Sasha in here and ask them.

"Are you thinking about harming yourself?"

"No." Except for wanting to smash into things and make myself bleed sometimes.

"Are you thinking about harming someone else?"

It's all I think about.

"Beg your pardon?"

Oh, god, he had said that out loud. "I mean...I..." he tried, and gave up.

"Yes?"

He shook his head. I just know iknowiknowiknow that I'm hurting people and I hate myself. I hate myself so much.

"Are you still thinking about disappearing, Casey?"

He gazed helplessly back at her. Didn't she see that he already was disappearing? Right in front of her, going transparent. She might as well get her little form and sign it, put him where he couldn't torture anyone anymore.

"Casey, listen to me. Believe it or not, you don't belong in a hospital. You don't meet the criteria for involuntary hospitalization, I can assure you of that. Now I suppose if you wanted you could go into a hospital voluntarily. You might feel better while you're there...but it won't help you with what you really need to work on, will it?"

"No," he husked.

"I know it's hard. I know it hurts, and you're probably ready to quit a hundred times a day and it seems like it never gets any better — but it does. It's just hard to see when you're stuck in the middle of it. You understand?"

He shrugged.

"I can tell you that I do see an improvement in you just since last week."

He gave her a disbelieving stare.

"It's true...and I'd bet that your friends would agree with me, if they were here."

Shaking his head, he said, "You don't know how much trouble I am."

"If I were your friend, I think I'd be very glad that you're trouble. I'll bet that when you were in the hospital before, you weren't much trouble at all. And I'll bet your friends hated it."

He supposed he could see her point — but then she wasn't in the middle of it, like she said. She didn't know.

"How about we just proceed with physical, now, Casey, and when we're done, I'm going to ask you if you feel any better. Okay?"

He complied with that, and he complied with every order she gave him, putting a hand over his eye and reading, sticking out his tongue, turning as needed, lying down. Her touch was gentle, tolerable. Professional. It all made sense. Head, lungs, heart, bowel, hands, feet. She kept asking him if he was doing okay, and he would nod, or murmur something to the affirmative.

"Fine."

"That's good...so Casey, you have some bruises on your arms and your knees and thighs. Would you like to tell me where you got those?"

He looked right at her and said, "From having sex."

As a doctor, she didn't blush easily. She just raised her eyebrows. "Are you active sexually, then?"

"Yes."

"And are you using protection?"

"Yes."

"That's good. Now, in relation to that subject...we've come to the least pleasant part of the physical. I'm going to need to do a genital and rectal exam. Is that all right? I wouldn't want to skip it, it is important, especially if you are or have been sexually active. Do I have your permission?"

He nodded. This was something he had to do, for Zeke, assuming that Zeke ever wanted to touch him again.

"I promise it won't take long, Casey. First I'll examine your genitals. Just sit on the table. Like that. And part your legs for me please...just a bit. That's fine."

Her hands were on him. He didn't move. He accepted, like always.

"Okay, good. Now, I'll get you to stand. Turn around and bend over the exam bed. That's good."

He heard the snap of latex. A hand rested on his lower back. He felt a faint warmth at his back. "Just need you to stay still for a moment — "

"No!" Terror exploded in him when her hand moved down, seeking his opening and he felt the initial sensation of her finger...Not her not her, she was going to have him this time, she was going to get him she was going to get inside...He couldn't exactly fling himself, pinned as he was, but he squirmed and wrestled his way out of her grip, moving all the way down to the end of the bed, where he put his backside to the wall. "No," he said, trembling.

Dr. Chakri lifted her gloved hands. "It won't be — "

"No," he repeated. He straightened up, feeling quite prepared to hit her if she came near him. "I can't." And he was crying again. "I can't let you."

"Okay," she said, letting her hands fall to her sides. "That's your choice, Casey."

"I can't."

"It's all right. We won't do this today."

"I can't let you."

"Casey? It's okay, we're not going to do it." She snagged a tissue and offered it to him. He didn't touch it. "I'll just step out and let you get dressed, all right?"

He heard the door, and did want to put his clothes on, so...His body was moving slowly, as through a thick fall of honey. He watched his hands moving, doing up a zipper, pulling his shirt down, and it didn't seem like his hands or his belly even though he knew that it was. He sat on the bed again, his arms clenched around himself to try to contain his shivering.

The door opened again.

"Are you okay, Casey?"

He nodded, tightening his grip on his upper arms.

"I'm not going to pressure you in any way, Casey...but at some point we should try to do the exam. Maybe not for a while, though...and I think you might want to discuss this with your therapist. At some point down the road, I hope you'll feel more comfortable."

Not knowing what sort of answer she expected, he shrugged.

"If it makes you feel any better, I didn't see anything externally that we need to worry about. I just have a few quick questions and then we'll be done. Have you ever been tested for STD's, Casey?"

"No."

"Have you ever engaged in unprotected sex?"

"Yes."

"With your current partner?"

"No."

"Was your previous partner someone you trusted?"

He looked up.

"Is there any chance she or he might have put you at risk?"

"Yes," he whispered. "And I... I trusted him."

So no wonder Roy took advantage. No wonder he never loved Casey...Casey was just a brainless slut waiting to be taken advantage of. He did it to himself, so why shouldn't Roy think he would lay down for her — and he did lay down for her, so Roy was right about that too.

"Did you say something, Casey?"

"No."

"All right. I think we had better do an STD test, which means I'll need to get a nurse to take more blood. Apart from the anemia, you do seem reasonably healthy. There was no evidence of any sexual disease. I am a bit concerned about your weight, but I expect to see improvement there soon. So we'll see what the blood tests say, and if they're okay, we'll still need to do a follow-up test in six months, to be sure."

Dr. Chakri brought in Nurse Ultragruff, who quickly stuck a needle in him, sucked out some more blood and left. Casey noticed that Dr. Chakri remained in the room, even though she kept her distance.

"Are you sure you're okay, Casey?" Dr. Chakri asked.

He nodded.

"Have you thought about everything? Do you still feel like you need to be in a hospital?"

He was pretty much stuck out here now.

"No," he said.

"Well, then. I guess we're done for today."

Daring relief, he got off the table. He felt stiff and achy and completely drained, and he wanted nothing but to get out of this room, to see Zeke and Sasha. Maybe have cinnamon toast and cocoa again when they got home, curl up on the couch with a blanket and watch something...

"Casey," said Dr. Chakri.

"Yes?"

"You know how when your body catches a virus, you don't feel it? What you do feel are the antibodies your body produces to try to fight it, right? When you catch a cold, for example, the production of antibodies means your nose runs and your chest may fill up with things, you cough, your eyes water, your head aches...but all of that is just your body trying to get rid of the virus."

Dr. Chakri folded her arms and put on a self-deprecating smile.

"I'm sure I'm being about as subtle as a hammer here, but you know what I'm saying? You have to feel worse to get better. That's what healing is like, and you can't really stop it from happening."

She was waiting for him to say something, he supposed. He murmured, "I understand."

"Good," she sighed. "I'll let you out of here, Casey. I've written down the brand of the iron pills I want you to take. Try to take them with food, to minimize the likelihood of any nausea. Be sure to make an appointment for two weeks from now, but if the pills are really bothering you, try to come in and see me sooner. In the meantime, if the blood tests show anything we need to be worried about, we'll contact you. If you don't hear from us, assume everything is fine."

He nodded quickly.

"Casey, I'd like you to keep a journal for me, keep track of your walks and your relaxation sessions, and also when you take a Xanax. Will you do that for me?"

"Yes."

"I believe you still have enough Paxil to hold you for a while. Do you need another prescription for Xanax? Or do you have enough for another two weeks?"

He said hesitantly, "I need more. Please."

There was nothing, not even a flicker of disapproval. Dr. Chakri wrote the prescription without comment and handed it to him, saying, "I'll see you in two weeks."

He nodded, thinking about home.

"Feel better, Casey," she said, and smiled gently, showing him out.


End file.
